Chapter Seven
Whichello was already moving toward the door, pulling on clothes with movements that felt too slow despite their speed. Isaac sat up behind him, sheets pooling around his waist, and Whichello forced himself not to look back at the bite mark he’d left on pale skin.
“Stay here,” he told Isaac. “Don’t open this door for anyone except Marcus or me.”
Dimitri loose in the castle. Isaac vulnerable. The timing felt too convenient, too orchestrated.
He turned to the guards posted outside Isaac’s door, his voice low and commanding. “No one enters this room. No one. I don’t care if the castle is burning down around you. You stand here, and you keep him safe.”
Both guards straightened, understanding the weight behind those words. They’d seen what happened to demons who failed him.
The walk to the dungeon took longer than Whichello wanted. Each corridor stretched endlessly, his footsteps echoing off stone that absorbed sound and gave nothing back. Marcus kept pace beside him, his expression grim in the torchlight that flickered along the walls.
“There’s no way he got out on his own,” Marcus said, his voice carrying an edge that Whichello recognized as carefully controlled fury. “The locks were intact. No signs of forced entry. Someone let him out.”
Whichello’s jaw tightened. He’d suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made ice spread through his veins. “Who had access?”
“Three guards on rotation. I handpicked them myself.” Marcus’s frustration bled through every word. “I’d stake my life on their loyalty.”
“You might have to.” Whichello took another turn, descending deeper into the castle’s lower levels where the air grew colder and the darkness pressed closer. “But loyalty can be bought or threatened. Someone wanted Dimitri free.”
They passed through an archway that led to another staircase, this one spiraling down into sections of the castle that predated Whichello’s ownership. The stone here felt older, heavier with centuries of violence and secrets.
Marcus remained silent for several steps before speaking again. “What do you want me to do?”
“Pull together every guard you trust completely,” Whichello said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Have them bring Azariah to my office.”
Marcus’s expression shifted into something darker. “You think he’s behind this?”
“I think my brother has a gift for being exactly where chaos begins and nowhere to be found when questions get asked.” Whichello paused at the entrance to the dungeon corridor. “And I think he’s the only demon in this castle with both the power and the motivation to stage something like this.”
“You want me to arrest him?” The question held eagerness that Marcus didn’t bother hiding.
“I want you to invite him for a conversation.” Whichello turned to face his enforcer fully. “Politely. With enough guards that he understands declining isn’t an option but without giving him ammunition to claim persecution.”
Marcus’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Polite but firm. Got it.”
“And Marcus?” Whichello waited until the enforcer met his eyes. “If anything happens to Isaac while I’m dealing with this, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
Marcus nodded, peeling off at the next junction to gather the necessary demons while Whichello continued toward the holding cells.
Every last one stood empty. Checking the lock on the door of Dimitri’s cell, Whichello confirmed Marcus’s statement.
There wasn’t any signs of tampering. No splintered wood or dangling parts.
Someone had opened the door for Dimitri.
Pivoting on his heel, Whichello headed to his office. The route took him through sections of the castle he rarely visited, past rooms that held memories he’d rather leave undisturbed. But his mind kept returning to Isaac, to the mate bond that now hummed under his skin like a second heartbeat.
He hadn’t gone to Isaac’s room planning to claim him.
The thought had been there, lurking in the back of his mind since the auction, but Whichello had told himself he could wait.
Could give Isaac time to adjust, to accept the situation without adding physical intimacy to an already complicated dynamic.
But then he’d walked in and seen those amethyst eyes looking at him with a mixture of fear and defiance, and all his careful control had evaporated like morning frost under sunlight.
Whichello reached his office and pushed through the heavy door, moving immediately to the window that overlooked the eastern grounds.
Darkness pressed against the glass, eternal twilight that never shifted into true night or day.
Dimitri was loose and his brother was playing games that Whichello couldn’t yet see the edges of.
He pressed his palm against the cold glass, letting the chill ground him.
The mate bond pulsed, telling him Isaac was safe, still in the tower room where Whichello had left him.
The connection felt strange, foreign, like suddenly having a limb he’d never possessed before but somehow knew how to use.
No regret touched him for what had happened. He should probably feel something about claiming his mate so soon after nearly losing him to assault, should question whether the timing had been appropriate. But Whichello had lived too long to waste energy on should-haves and could-have-beens.
Isaac was his now. Officially, undeniably, in a way that went beyond auction purchases and forced proximity. The bite mark on his shoulder would heal, but the bond would remain, tying them together for eternity.
Footsteps approached from the hallway. Multiple sets, moving with purpose. Whichello turned from the window as Marcus entered first, followed by four guards who flanked Azariah like an honor escort.
This was anything but.
His brother looked amused rather than concerned. That slight smile played at the corners of his mouth, the expression that meant he knew something Whichello didn’t and was savoring the knowledge.
“Brother.” Azariah’s tone was pleasant as he took in the guards surrounding him. “Overkill, don’t you think? Should I be flattered or concerned?”
With a gesture, Whichello dismissed the guards, keeping only Marcus in the room. The enforcer positioned himself near the door, blocking the exit without making it obvious. Azariah noticed, because the demon noticed everything, but didn’t comment.
“Sit.” Whichello gestured to the chair across from his desk, not bothering with pleasantries his brother would see through anyway.
Azariah took his time settling into the seat, arranging his jacket with movements that suggested he had all the time in the world.
“I assume this is about your missing prisoner.” His voice held that particular tone that made Whichello’s teeth grind together.
“Unfortunate business, losing track of someone you’d personally sentenced to death. ”
If Azariah only knew how close Whichello was to killing him for interrupting his time with Isaac.
His mate. The word still echoed strangely in Whichello’s mind, though he’d suspected it for some time.
But nothing had prepared him for the actual sensations, that exact moment their pulses had fallen into perfect rhythm, the strange heat that had fused something essential between them.
It was a moment even ancient beings held sacred, and his fucking brother had cut it short.
“You seem well informed.” Whichello remained standing, looming over Azariah. “Care to explain how you acquired that information so quickly?”
“I make it my business to know what happens in this castle.” Azariah crossed one leg over the other, the picture of relaxed confidence. “Surely you don’t resent me staying informed about matters that affect our household.”
The casual use of our grated against Whichello’s already frayed patience. This castle was his, earned through centuries of violence and political maneuvering. Azariah was a guest, family ties being the only thing that kept him breathing.
“Informed enough to know that someone let him out?” Whichello asked.
“A troubling thought.” Azariah’s expression remained unchanged, that pleasant mask never slipping. “You must have many enemies who’d enjoy causing you this particular headache.”
“I do.” Whichello let the silence stretch, watching for any tell that would give away his brother’s involvement. “But most of them don’t live under my roof with intimate knowledge of my security measures.”
Something flickered in Azariah’s eyes, there and gone too quickly to identify.
“Where were you tonight?” Whichello asked, moving away from the window to lean against his desk. The position put him closer to Azariah, close enough to strike if needed.
“In my quarters, reading.” Azariah swiped his hand down his pantleg like he was removing lint. “Alone, unfortunately, so no witnesses to verify my whereabouts. But then, I don’t recall being accused of anything that would require an alibi.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.” Whichello casually shrugged. “I’m simply asking where you were.”
“And I’m simply telling you.” Azariah finally glanced up, meeting Whichello’s gaze with eyes that held centuries of secrets. “Though I’m curious why you’re asking me specifically. There has to be other suspects more obvious than your own brother.”
Azariah had said brother with syrupy sweetness, as if reminding Whichello of their familial ties would soften him. It didn’t. Not in their family, where alliances shifted like sand and trust was a weakness to be exploited.
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.” Whichello shifted his weight. “You’ve been circling Isaac since he arrived. Making observations. Asking questions. Warning me about political ramifications.”
“Just brotherly concern.” Azariah’s smile widened slightly, the expression still not reaching his eyes. “You’ve been acting uncharacteristically protective over a simple acquisition. I thought perhaps you’d appreciate some perspective.”