Fire and ozone filled my nose.
We turned another corner, and I balled my fists.
Lothaire was shouting and kneeling, and Arabella was seizing and twitching like she’d been electrocuted.
I growled like an animal.
As we stalked down the hall toward what was ours, her screams became whimpers.
Finally, she stopped convulsing.
Arabella’s ragged breaths were too loud in the quiet hall.
Orion whispered and his lyrical voice had a hard edge as he stared at Lothaire. “Never take Arabella away from us. Ever again.” He shook with rage.
Scorpius’s voice had a strange lilt to it as he said, “You dared to take her from us.”
He reached down to grab Arabella. His scowl disappeared, and he smiled tenderly as he ran his pale fingers across her cheek.
Eyes hooded with contentment, she nuzzled his fingers.
Scorpius’s tender expression transformed into horror, and he snatched his hand away.
Arabella scrambled backward.
“What just happened?” I asked as I shook my head to clear the haze from my mind as I pushed Scorpius and Orion behind me protectively.
Scorpius spat, “What did you just do to us?”
Arabella’s already fair skin somehow paled further. “Really? Screw you.” Her fingers trembled as she shoved the pipe between her ruby lips and mumbled, “I was the one in agony. Not you.”
Lothaire looked back and forth with his hands fisted, and he vibrated with rage. “What is going on?”
The possessive rage had drained away, and I was left with an uncomfortable mix of contentment and confusion.
I snapped at him, “You tell me.”
On the marble ground, Arabella made a choking noise and blanched like she’d realized something.
“What do you know?” I whirled on her.
Flames erupted across my arms, and I had the irrational urge to throw them at Lothaire for standing near Arabella.
He was a threat to her.
No. I shook my head again to clear my jumbled thoughts. Arabella is the threat. She killed Horace and deceived you.
Her voice cracked, and a sharp pang clenched my heart at the sound of her distress.
I ignored it.
She said to Lothaire, “You will supply me with every expensive enchanted drug in the realm, and you will never talk to me. Ever. Again.”
Lothaire arched his scarred brow just like his daughter loved to do and asked, “Why in the realms would I do that?”
She cracked her head against the floor.
“Stop,” Orion and I snarled, both of us vibrating with inexplicable rage that she dared to hurt herself in our presence.
“Because, Father.” She choked on the word. “You enslaved me to these vile men. And some brands have more sinister implications than others.”
Lothaire opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand to silence him.
Arabella spoke slowly like it pained her to voice the words aloud, “I can’t leave their presence without excruciating pain. It must be a consequence of this type of brand.”
My jaw dropped.
Scorpius swore.
Orion choked.
Our sudden feelings of irrational possessiveness and rage made sense. It wasn’t our emotions; it was the tattoo.
We were stuck with her disgusting presence. Somehow Arabella kept ruining our lives.
Scorpius smiled, and Arabella shuddered.
It wasn’t a friendly expression.
It was a promise.
We were going to destroy her.
Lothaire staggered back like he’d been struck. “No.” He grabbed Arabella by the arm and resumed dragging her down the hall.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a monotone voice, eyes blank as she let her father manhandle her.
Orion’s pretty features darkened, and Scorpius made a harsh noise.
I agreed.
Arabella didn’t belong to him.
She was ours.
Lothaire’s jagged scar was stark against his tight features as he looked back at us and ordered, “You three, stay close.”
I fisted my flaming hands and wanted to snarl at him to stop touching her.
Instead, I nodded curtly at my mates and said, “Let’s go.”
Lothaire pulled Arabella into the bedroom, and we followed him inside.
Sparks leaped around him as he looked at us. “You four are going to stay in this room and not leave until I figure out what’s going on.”
Arabella yanked her arm out of his hold and flopped down on her bed. She mumbled under her breath, “Good plan. Leave me with the fucking crazy men. Real smart.”
Lothaire whirled around. “Language!”
She rolled her eyes.
He turned back around to address us, and she mouthed, “Go fuck yourself,” behind his back.
Lothaire ordered, “The three of you will not talk to my daughter. You will not look at her, touch her, or even breathe in her direction until I come back. I will handle the situation.”
He waved his hand at the wall, which was vibrating with the music from the party still raging in the great hall. “The celebration should last for the next three days. I will be back before it’s over. No one leaves this room. Do you understand?” His voice dripped with menace.
“Yes, sir.” It took every ounce of control I possessed to bow my head like I was subservient.
If Lothaire wasn’t the key to finding our missing mate—flames trailed up the back of my hand and crawled up my arm—he would be dead.
“I’m trusting you,” Lothaire said as he took another step closer. “All three of you.”
Then he was gone.
Scorpius wrapped his arms around me and Orion and dragged us into our bed. Orion reached over and pulled the string that closed all the blinds on the stained-glass window.
Red light was replaced with darkness.
A yellow sheen glowed across Orion’s eyes, and I knew mine had a similar glint.
Devils had night vision.
Arabella smoked and stared at the ceiling, unaware that predators were watching her.
And she was our prey.
Chapter 3
Aran
DRUGS
The beginning: Shackles—Day 3, hour 21
Sixty-eight hours, three minutes, and fourteen seconds had passed since Lothaire left me in the room with the kings and told me to wait.
Not that I was counting.
The room was dark and cold. Soft snores sounded from across the room. The kings were asleep or dead.
I prayed that their wheezing was a symptom of rigor mortis.
The fireplace was empty, and no flames screamed at me like usual. Disappointing. I missed the shrieks.
The screaming flames added a certain je ne sais quoi to the room. An ambiance if you will.
They matched my aesthetic.
Yes, my aesthetic was mental illness; no, I didn’t want to talk about it.
I wanted to wallow. That was the bloody point.
Now the room was creepily quiet.
It was pitch-black. Even after my eyes adjusted, I could only see a few inches in front of my face. Immediately after I’d gotten the tattoo, I’d been able to see sharper and more colors, but the effect had faded.
A heavy bass thumped as the party raged in the great hall. The pounding music made my bed vibrate beneath me.
At least the darkness was giving a depressive ambiance.
I’d been fine when I first got back to the room, if you defined fine as a state of being in perpetual agony and manically hallucinating. The delusion was that I thought I was fine.