Chapter Four
After settling Isaac in his new quarters, Whichello stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
He was not going to survive this if one more person tried to harm the panda.
Whichello couldn’t get the image of Dimitri’s vile act out of his head, how he’d pinned someone so small beneath him.
Isaac couldn’t be taller than five feet.
The shifter had no idea what holding back had cost Whichello, the restraint it had taken not to end Dimitri after yanking the bastard off Isaac.
Keeping a soft little panda in a castle full of demons was a very dangerous thing. But after Whichello discovered Isaac had nearly been killed trying save his human friend, all bets were off, freedom revoked.
Crimson Hollow should consider itself lucky Whichello hadn’t shown up to collect Isaac. He would’ve buried that town in ten feet of ice. Fuck me sideways. Isaac could’ve died, and Whichello wouldn’t have been there to save him.
The thought sent ice shooting through his veins.
Demons had no clue who their mate was until they had sex with them, but a certainty deep in his gut shouted Isaac was his.
And he’d nearly lost the panda before…what?
He locked the guy in a room to be assaulted by the very guard entrusted to keep him safe?
The plan to lock Isaac somewhere escape-proof had backfired spectacularly.
Dimitri had a death with date, and Whichello would ensure he suffered before he became an ice sculpture.
“Your soft spot for gorgeous men is going to be your downfall,” Azariah said as he approached. “Thinking of taking on another consort?”
It hadn’t even crossed Whichello’s mind, and he wasn’t thrilled at the reminder either. “You’d do well to mind your own business, brother. I’m in no mood for your bullshit.”
“Hmm,” Azariah huffed. “You kind of made it everyone’s business when you brought prey into a castle full of predators.
What did you think would happen? Most of these demons don’t have an ounce of integrity in their bodies, yet you ordered your men to not only kidnap the cinnamon roll but bring him into a vipers’ nest.”
Whichello’s gaze narrowed. “What exactly are you implying, Azariah?”
Rage coiled low in Whichello’s gut, but he kept his expression smooth as glass. Azariah wanted a reaction, wanted him to snap and prove something about bringing Isaac here. He probably already had a speech prepared about poor judgment and emotional weakness.
Not happening. Not with Isaac’s door barely ten feet away.
“I’m implying nothing.” Azariah’s mouth curved, but the expression held all the warmth of a January grave. “Just making an observation about how quickly you moved to retrieve your little acquisition. Some might wonder why.”
Some. Meaning Azariah himself, fishing for confirmation of whatever theory he’d already decided was true.
Whichello forcibly unclenched his jaw. His brother thrived on this particular brand of needling, the kind that wore you down until you either exploded or gave something away. Fourteen hundred years and Azariah still played the same games.
“Dimitri crossed a line,” Whichello said, keeping his voice low and even. “I dealt with it.”
“By sentencing him to death?” Something flickered in Azariah’s eyes that might have been amusement or calculation. “You realize half the demons in this castle served under him at some point. His execution might inspire unfortunate questions about your priorities.”
There it was. The real reason Azariah had sought him out in this particular hallway at this particular time. Not concern for Isaac’s safety or Whichello’s judgment but the political ramifications of killing a high-ranking enforcer.
“Let them ask.” Whichello’s fingers twitched with the urge to frost every surface in the corridor. “Anyone who thinks assault is acceptable can join him in the dungeon.”
“Protective.” Azariah tilted his head like he was examining something curious under glass. “Over a little red panda you barely know. That’s quite the investment for someone you supposedly purchased on a whim.”
The word investment crawled under Whichello’s skin and set up residence. His brother knew exactly what he was doing, poking at the tender parts to see what bled.
Whichello would not give him the satisfaction.
He might’ve purchased Isaac to settle Gilbert’s debt, but Whichello had also paid twice the amount owed for the panda.
It wasn’t on a whim, either. After experiencing so much betrayal, Whichello had just wanted someone he could trust, someone who wanted nothing in return.
Sounded pathetic as hell. Whichello paid sixty grand for what? A companion? Someone he could simply chill with and not worry about a knife sliding into his back?
“Are we done here?” He kept his tone flat, bored even, though his blood felt close to freezing in his veins. “I have other matters to attend to.”
Azariah’s smile widened a fraction, like Whichello’s non-reaction was a reaction in itself. Probably was. His brother could read silence better than most demons read ancient texts.
“Just trying to help you see the bigger picture, brother. Dimitri has allies. Killing him sends a message, certainly, but messages can be interpreted in so many different ways.”
Footsteps echoed down the corridor, heavy and firm.
Marcus appeared around the corner, his gaze moving between Whichello and Azariah with the kind of assessment that came from years of reading dangerous situations.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly when he took in their positions, the space between them that probably looked too small and dangerously charged.
Marcus stopped a respectful distance away, but his posture shifted into something more alert. Ready.
“Am I interrupting?” The question was civil, but his eyes remained locked on Azariah. The two had never gotten along. Marcus refused to play Azariah’s games, despised them in fact. Whichello had lost count on how many times he’d had to leash Marcus before his enforcer ripped Azariah to shreds.
“Not at all.” Azariah’s expression smoothed into something pleasant and empty. “I was just leaving.”
He turned with unhurried grace, each step even and casual, like he had all the time in the world and nothing more important to do than wander castle corridors dispensing unwanted advice.
His footfalls faded down the hallway, and neither Whichello nor Marcus moved until the sound disappeared entirely.
Whichello would never understand how he was related to Azariah.
His brother would give their mother to a sadist just to watch her suffer.
Whichello would at least demand a price.
“Is he a threat I need to watch for?” Marcus asked quietly, jutting a chin toward Isaac’s room.
“Always.” Whichello watched the empty corridor where his brother had vanished. “Never let your guard down around him. He’s always three moves ahead in a game only he knows he’s playing.”
Though calling Azariah a threat was like calling the Mad Hatter a little twitchy. His brother wouldn’t move against him directly, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t maneuver pieces on the board until the whole game tilted on the edge of a cliff.
Marcus snorted but kept his comment to himself. That’s what Whichello liked about him. The demon understood the nuances of treachery without needing it spelled out.
“Have you spoken to Isaac?” Despite Whichello just leaving the panda, Isaac had only given grunted replies, refusing to engage in a two-way conversation. He wasn’t going to push the shifter. Not if Isaac wasn’t ready to talk to him.
“Yeah. He’s shaken but holding together. Ate some of the dinner I brought him.” Marcus paused. “He asked if you were really going to kill Dimitri.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That Dimitri was already dead, just needed his body to drop.”
That was…actually not bad. Probably more tactful than what Whichello would’ve said.
Maybe it was best Isaac hadn’t asked him instead.
The panda was a part of the nonhuman world where laws worked differently.
No trials. No negotiation. No chance for Dimitri to plead his case.
The moment he’d touched Isaac, his fate had sealed itself.
Still, Azariah’s warning still lingered inside Whichello’s head.
Dimitri did have allies, demons who might take exception to their commander being executed over what they’d see as a minor transgression.
The castle’s atmosphere had been shifting for some years now, stirring with a restlessness that predated Isaac’s arrival.
Whichello felt the impending change like a current on the air that hummed with warning.
The need to protect Isaac was almost overpowering.
Returning to the human realm was too dangerous. Whichello’s enemies would seize any opportunity to weaponize Isaac against him or, worse, eliminate the shifter entirely. The thought of those amethyst eyes dulling with pain made Whichello’s chest tighten unbearably.
The panda hadn’t evaded detection for sixteen months.
Whichello had known his location the entire time.
But he’d chosen to give Isaac his freedom, only shadowing his movements to ensure his continued safety.
For a year and a half Whichello had checked on him a few times a week.
Nothing more than concern for his investment.
The notion that he could watch over Isaac without becoming entangled in his life now struck Whichello as the height of arrogance.
Slowly, he’d begun to memorize how Isaac would perch on his fire escape, a blunt between his fingers, exhaling smoke in perfect rings that dissolved against the night sky.
Whichello noticed the way moonlight caught in Isaac’s dark hair.
Some evenings Isaac would stare at nothing, his eyes reflecting a quiet desolation Whichello recognized in himself.
In his centuries of existence, Whichello had never felt this inexplicable pull toward another’s suffering. This bone-deep connection with another living being. Only Isaac.
The panda had to be his mate. There was no other explanation for the way Whichello felt. A millennium of power and ruthlessness and here he was, undone by a small creature with defiant eyes and an iron will. Centuries of calculated control shattered by something as simple as loneliness recognized.
It was incomprehensible. Absurd. And yet undeniable. Whichello almost laughed at the middle finger the universe had given him.
“Only use guards you trust completely for Isaac’s room.” Whichello forced himself to focus. “Ones you’d stake your life on.”
Marcus gave him a look that suggested Whichello had just stated the obvious, like he’d told him water was wet or fire was hot. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“I’m the better planner.” Whichello smirked. The enforcer didn’t need basic instructions on how to protect someone. If he had, this place needed to fire its HR department, which consisted of a single employee. Whichello Annunziata.
“You want me to assign guards who won’t mysteriously develop amnesia if someone offers them a wad of cash or threatens their families more than once?” Marcus’s mouth curved without humor. “Preferably ones who remember that attempting to harm your property results in creative ice sculptures.”
Property. The word felt wrong on a hundred different levels, but Whichello couldn’t correct it without revealing too much. Marcus was loyal, but even loyal demons talked, and the last thing Isaac needed was the entire castle speculating about why Whichello cared so much about one small shifter.
Like the entire demon realm hasn’t figured it out already.
Whichello’s gaze swept the corridor, taking in the shadows that seemed too deep, the corners that felt too dark. The castle had eyes everywhere, ears in the walls, and too many demons with nothing better to do than gather intelligence to use as currency.
His skin prickled with the harsh reality of his existence. Information traveled through these halls faster than frost spread across glass.
Maybe it was time to clear out his castle and reclaim what little sanity he had left.
“I have a meeting with Dottori,” Whichello said, tempted to reschedule. “Keep your head on a swivel while I’m gone. Climate’s deteriorating, heading into unfavorable temperatures.”
“I’ll make sure I’m dressed for hostile weather.” Shadows stretched unnaturally behind Marcus, the light from the doorway framing his silhouette like a harbinger of chaos. “Know how long you’ll be gone?”
“Few hours at most.” Whichello glanced at Isaac’s door, that thick wood shielding someone who’d been through too much in too short a time. Part of him wanted to stay, to plant himself outside that door like a guard dog and dare anyone to come near.
But a target was already sniffing at Isaac’s heels from his association with Whichello. Going savage over his little panda would only invite trouble Isaac didn’t need.
Walking away felt wrong, like leaving a piece of him unguarded. His feet moved anyway, carrying him down the corridor while his mind stayed behind that door with the small shifter who’d somehow become the most dangerous thing in his life.
Not because Isaac posed any threat. But because of the lengths Whichello was more than willing to go to keep him safe.