Indeed, Ruhn said, “Wanna … hear a … joke?” The prince didn’t wait for a reply before he continued, “Two angels … and a Fae Prince … walk into … a dungeon …”
Ruhn didn’t finish, and didn’t need to. A broken, rasping laugh came out of Hunt. Then Baxian. Then Ruhn.
Though every heave shrieked through his arms, his back, his broken body, Hunt couldn’t stop laughing. The sound bordered on hysteria. Soon tears were leaking down his cheeks, and he knew from the scent that the others were laughing and crying as well, like it was the funniest fucking thing in the world.
The door to the chamber banged open, echoing off the stones like a thunderclap.
“Shut the fuck up,” Pollux barked, stalking down the stairs, wings blazing in the dimness.
Hunt laughed louder. Footsteps trailed behind the Hammer—a dark-haired, brown-skinned male followed him in: the Hawk. The final member of Sandriel’s triarii. “What the Hel is wrong with them?” he sneered at Pollux.
“They’re stupid shits, that’s what,” Pollux said, strutting to the rack of torture devices and grabbing an iron poker. He thrust it into the embers of the fire, the light gilding his white wings into a mockery of a heavenly aura.
The Hawk prowled closer, peering at the three of them with a close scrutiny that echoed his namesake. Like Baxian, the Hawk hailed from two peoples: angels, who had granted him his white wings, and hawk shifters, who’d granted him his ability to transform into a bird of prey.
Those were about all the similarities between the two males. For starters, Baxian had a soul. The Hawk …
The Hawk’s gaze lingered on Hunt. Nothing of life, of joy, lay in those eyes.
“Athalar.”
Hunt nodded to the male in greeting. “Asshole.”
Ruhn snickered. The Hawk pivoted to the rack, where he pulled out a long, curving knife. The kind that was designed to yank out organs on the withdraw. Hunt remembered that one—from last time.
Ruhn laughed again, as if almost drunk. “Creative.”
“We’ll see how you laugh in a moment, princeling,” the Hawk said, earning a grin from Pollux as the Hammer waited for the poker to heat. “I heard your cousin Cormac pleaded for mercy before the end.”
“Fuck you,” Ruhn snarled.
The hawk shifter weighed the knife in his hands. “His father has disowned him. Or whatever’s left of his body.” A wink at Ruhn. “Your father has done the same.”
Hunt didn’t miss the shock that rippled over Ruhn’s face. At his father’s betrayal? Or at his cousin’s demise? Did such things even matter down here?
Baxian rasped to the Hawk, “You’re a fucking liar. Always were … always will be.”
The Hawk smiled up at Baxian. “How about we start with your tongue today, traitor?”
To Baxian’s credit, he stuck out his tongue toward the Hawk in invitation.
Hunt smirked. Yeah—they were all in this together. To the bitter end.
The Hawk cut his stare toward Hunt. “You’ll be next, Athalar.”
“Come and get it,” Hunt gasped. Ruhn extended his tongue as well.
The Hawk simmered with rage at their defiance, white wings glowing with unearthly power. But slowly, a smile lit his face—horrific in its calculation, its gradual delight as Pollux turned, the poker white-hot and rippling with heat.
“Who’s first?” the Hammer crooned. The angel stood poised, silhouetted against the blazing fire behind him.
Hunt opened his mouth, his last bit of bravado before the shitshow began, but in the shadows behind Pollux, beyond the fireplace, something dark moved. Something darker than shadow.
Not Ruhn’s shadows. The prince didn’t seem to be able to access those when constrained by the gorsian shackles. Only the prince’s mind-speaking abilities remained.
This shadow was different—darker, older. Watching them.
Watching Hunt.
Hallucinations: Bad, because it meant he had some infection that even his immortal body couldn’t fight off. Good, because it meant he might quietly slip away into death’s embrace. Bad, because it meant the Asteri might turn their attention fully to Bryce. Good, because the pain would be gone. Bad, because he still held out some stupid, fool’s hope deep in his heart of seeing her again. Good, because Bryce wouldn’t come looking for him if he was dead.
Across the room, the thing in the shadows moved. Just slightly. Like it had crooked a finger at him.
Death. That was the thing in the shadows.