Chapter Seven #2
The word acquisition landed differently now that Whichello had claimed Isaac.
His hands tightened against the desk edge, wood creaking under the pressure as the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Ice crept up the walls, spreading across stone in delicate fractals, like broken glass reflecting torchlight.
“Careful.” Whichello’s voice carried the weight of centuries, low and brimming with barely contained violence. “You’re treading on ground that has buried better demons than you.”
“Am I?” Azariah seemed unbothered by the frost forming on his jacket. “Or am I simply pointing out the obvious? You’ve painted a target on that little shifter’s back, and Dimitri’s escape is just the opening move.”
“Then you admit you know something about it.”
“You’re paranoid, brother.” Azariah’s smile turned sharp, genuine amusement finally breaking through the pleasant facade. “Not every crisis that occurs in your castle is a conspiracy against you.”
“No, but the ones involving missing prisoners usually are.” Whichello gave his brother a look that would make most demons tremble. Azariah didn’t flinch, still smiling that small, knowing smile.
“Dimitri had allies, demons who felt his punishment was excessive for what they viewed as a minor transgression. With him free and you distracted by your shifter, well…” He spread his hands in a gesture that suggested infinite possibilities. “The castle feels poised for change.”
Whichello invaded his brother’s space, ice spreading faster now, coating every surface within reach. “If you had any part in this, if you helped free Dimitri or encouraged his allies to move against me, brother or not, I will end you.”
“Such hostility.” Azariah stood, brushing frost from his sleeves with movements that suggested boredom rather than concern. “I’ve done nothing but exist in your castle and offer occasional commentary.”
Azariah was the only person who made Whichello want to commit murder. His brother knew how to get under his skin with nothing more than that annoying smile Whichello was itching to wipe off his face.
“Even if I had helped Dimitri escape,” Azariah said, voice dropping lower, “which I’m not admitting, what would you do about it? Execute your own brother on suspicion? That would certainly send a message to the other demons in this castle.”
The threat was subtle but present.
“Threaten me again and I’ll rip out your tongue.” There was no mercy in Whichello’s tone, just the promise of annihilation. “If anything happens to Isaac, I will erase you from the fabric of existence.”
Azariah’s smile faltered.
“Get out.” Whichello’s voice dropped lower, ice crawling across the floor toward his brother’s feet. “And understand this. Isaac is under my protection. Anyone who moves against him moves against me. That includes you.”
Azariah walked toward the door, pausing at the threshold, glancing back with that infuriating smile back in place.
“You know what I find most interesting about this situation? You’ve survived fourteen hundred years by being ruthless, by eliminating threats before they could materialize.
But now you have a furry little soft spot.
” His gaze held Whichello’s, and the expression in his eyes turned cold.
“That weakness will cost you. Whether through my actions or someone else’s remains to be seen. ”
The door closed behind him, leaving Whichello alone in an office coated with ice that continued to spread despite his attempts to rein it in. His brother’s words echoed in the frozen air, each one a carefully placed barb designed to fester.
Azariah had admitted nothing. Denied nothing. Given away nothing except the certainty that he knew more than he was saying, making Whichello want to tear down the castle stone by stone.
* * * *
Dimitri had escaped.
Isaac watched Whichello walk out of the room, leaving him by himself. The door closed with a soft click that echoed louder than it should have in the sudden silence.
Panic tried to claw its way up from his stomach, but Isaac shoved it down, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose.
He was safe here. The guards were right outside.
Whichello had promised no one would touch him again, and despite everything, that promise felt solid in a way few things in Isaac’s life ever had.
He moved to the door, pulling it open just enough to peer into the hallway. Both guards turned immediately, hands moving to weapons before they recognized him.
“Just checking you guys are still alive out here,” Isaac said, leaning against the doorframe with false casualness. “Wouldn’t want you falling asleep and letting the boogeyman sneak past.”
The guard on the left smirked. “We don’t sleep on duty. But if the boogeyman shows up, we’ll make sure to wake you for introductions.”
“How considerate.” Isaac managed something close to a real smile before closing the door again, engaging the lock from inside, even though he knew it wouldn’t keep anyone out who really wanted in.
The room felt too large now, empty in a way that made the walls seem farther away than they were.
His body still hummed with the aftermath of sex, the bite mark on his shoulder pulsing with a dull ache that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
But the quiet pressed down, magnifying every small sound in the stillness.
Television. That was what normal people did when they were alone and didn’t want to think too hard about psychopaths on the loose. Isaac had seen a massive screen mounted on the far wall earlier, partially hidden behind a decorative panel. The remote sat on a small table near the door.
He crossed the room, his bare feet silent on the plush carpet. The remote was sleek and modern, completely at odds with the gothic aesthetic of everything else in the castle. Isaac pressed the power button and the screen flickered to life, showing what appeared to be an old western.
He flipped through channels, looking for anything that would capture his attention.
A click echoed from the wall to his left.
Isaac’s thumb froze on the remote. He turned slowly, watching as a section of wall he’d examined earlier swung outward with the smooth motion of well-oiled hinges. Darkness yawned beyond the opening like an invitation.
Not a chance in hell.
He’d already had his fill of secret passages for one lifetime. Isaac moved toward the panel, ready to slam it shut and maybe shove furniture against it for good measure, when he heard a voice drifting from the darkness.
“Isaac?”
His hand stopped inches from the panel. That voice. He knew that voice like he knew his own heartbeat, had heard it through hangovers and late-night confessions and every significant moment they’d shared.
Danny.
But his best friend wasn’t here. He was in Crimson Hollow with Ash, living his best life with his mate who actually wanted him around. There was no possible way Danny’s voice was coming from a secret passage in a demon castle.
“Isaac, are you there?”
The words were muffled, distorted by distance or maybe by the passage itself, but the tone was unmistakable.
Isaac’s rational brain screamed that this was wrong, that he should close the panel and back away and maybe call for the guards.
But he moved forward anyway, drawn by the sound of the one person who’d never abandoned him.
“Danny?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
No response. Just darkness and that faint voice, still calling his name like a question mark hanging in stale air.
Isaac reached for the panel, fingers closing around the edge. The wood felt solid and real, cool under his palm. He pushed to shut it, but before the panel could close more than an inch, something grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward with enough force to lift him off his feet.
Darkness swallowed him.
When his feet hit solid ground again, it wasn’t a passage at all.
Isaac blinked against sudden brightness, his eyes adjusting to reveal the cramped living room of his apartment.
The sagging couch with the broken spring in the middle cushion.
The coffee table with rings stained into the cheap wood from too many nights of forgetting to use coasters.
The window that looked out over a parking lot where his beat-up Honda used to sit.
Home. Except it hadn’t felt like home since Danny had moved out to live with Ash.
Danny stood by the window, his back to Isaac, shoulders tense. Isaac frowned when he noticed that day had suddenly turned into night, darkness on the other side of the windows.
What the hell?
“Danny?” Isaac took a step forward, confusion making his thoughts sluggish. How was he here? He’d been in Whichello’s castle, in the demon realm, and now he was back in his apartment.
A memory flickered in Isaac’s mind. This was the night. The night Danny had told Isaac he was moving in with Ash.
Danny turned, but his expression held none of the gentle concern Isaac remembered from that night. No apology in his eyes, no softness around his mouth to cushion the blow. Just cold indifference, like Isaac was a stranger who’d wandered in off the street.
“What are you doing here?” Danny’s voice was flat, empty of the warmth that had defined their friendship.
“I don’t...” Isaac looked around the apartment, trying to make sense of what was happening. “I was in the castle. Whichello left and then there was a passage and I heard you—”
“You always do this.” Danny cut him off, crossing his arms over his body. “Make everything about you. I came here to get the last of my stuff, not to deal with your drama.”
The words hit like fists to the gut. Isaac took a step back, his shoulder blades finding the door behind him. “What are you talking about? You asked me to be here when you moved out. You said you wanted to explain—”