9. Max #2
Caspian shook his head in disgust. “Unbelievable.”
Aelindor offered no explanation for why he’d also rushed here.
The Fae prince clearly didn’t need to justify himself to anyone, and no one questioned him despite their supposed equality.
I filed that information away. He didn’t join their banter either, staying above the fray.
He simply observed everything with those winter-blue eyes that seemed to see straight through flesh to bone.
I hadn’t gotten a proper look at either man while being carried in during the chaos of the attack. Now I had a chance to study them, assessing potential threats or allies, using the CliffsNotes the demon had generously provided.
Aelindor had a swordsman’s physique—every line of his body graceful and lethal at once.
Icy beauty, the demon had called him. The Fae heir had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, like frozen lakes in starlight.
His silver hair flowed past his shoulders in a sheet of pure light, not a strand out of place.
I wondered what kind of soap he used to keep it so impossibly clean and shining.
The soap we miners got was crude stuff made from lye and ash that left our skin itchy and our hair brittle.
If Aelindor was icy elegance, Drakken was steely brutality. He had short hair like mine, but his was professionally cut. His physique was superb, broad shoulders, all muscle and compressed fury .
The dragon’s cold eyes pinned me down. The way he looked at me made me think of a cockroach that should be crushed under his boot.
I shrugged off the oppressive weight of his stare, refusing to be cowed.
His alpha dominance display would make someone lesser piss themselves in fear.
But I wasn’t lesser than him. And I’d never bent my knee to anyone.
Never lesser because you’ve got me, the demon chimed in with approval.
It had been watching the heirs like a viper even while I was unconscious, cataloguing their strengths and weaknesses.
For a second, Drakken’s eyes flashed to molten gold—his dragon peeking out to meet whatever gazed back at him from inside me. Did that thing change my eye color when it looked out through me? Did the dragon see something inhuman staring back, taunting the way it always taunted me?
Panic grabbed me by the throat. I dropped my gaze to the floor immediately, not in submission, but because I had no intention of letting anyone discover I was possessed by an entity. That knowledge would get me killed. Or worse.
Drakken looked visibly satisfied when I looked away first. He’d interpret it as me backing down under his dominance.
Chill, Max. The creature chuckled, amused by my terror. It still didn’t deny being a demon or reveal what it actually was. It didn’t regard these men as prey, unlike everyone else I’d ever encountered.
Enjoy the view. All four are here because of you. The demon continued, blatantly ogling the men before me. The future is looking up, dearest. I wonder which one you’ll fuck first. Should I place a bet?
Shut the fuck up! I couldn’t help engaging with it, breaking my own rule. But I had to silence it before it got me killed.
“Is the boy in any condition to answer questions?” Aelindor asked Ann, his voice courteous, like he was inquiring about the weather.
“You can ask me directly,” I cut in, refusing to cower or be talked over—despite the four princes’ potent presences creating physical pressure in the air itself.
Ann rubbed her arm. I doubted many beings felt at ease with all four heirs gathered in an enclosed room like this.
“I’m right here. My name is Max Morning. Not ‘the boy.’”
Even as a child, my parents had remarked on the dominance in my blood.
In the mines, the overseers learned to avoid conflict with me when possible, not only because I increased Stormglass production and made them look good.
I was large. I wasn’t afraid to fight back.
And I had something they recognized as danger lurking beneath the surface.
“It’s the presence,” Rogue had said more than once, admiration in his voice. “You have that presence, Max. Like you were born with it. Like royalty. Anyone clever won’t want to mess with you.”
I didn’t think I’d inherited this from my parents. They’d been scholars, more comfortable with books than confrontation. I never had a chance to ask them how scholars ended up as miners and slaves.
I swung my legs off the medical bed. The last thing I wanted was to look up at these men like some helpless damsel. A wave of dizziness swarmed through my head, making the room tilt, but I shoved it down through sheer will and pushed myself to stand.
My legs wobbled but held. I folded my arms across my chest defensively, consciously flattening my bound chest further. Before I could stop it, a vivid image of the vampire kneading my tit flooded my mind.
Shit. Do not fuss. Do not flush, I commanded myself.
The vampire would pay for that violation. I’d make sure of it.
I shifted my weight to the end of the bed, positioning myself so I had everyone in my field of vision. I didn’t like having strangers at my back, especially not powerful ones who might kill me without a second thought.
“Max recovered remarkably fast,” Ann offered. “But he still needs more rest, considering how severely dehydrated and malnourished he was when you brought him in. He?—”
“He’s standing there like he wants to take a swing at someone,” Drakken cut in. “Bring him to the interrogation room immediately.”
He snapped the order like he was accustomed to instant, unquestioning obedience. But no one moved. Not even Ann, who was a healer, not a soldier. And he didn’t outrank the other heirs.
I stared blankly at him, waiting to see if I’d be escorted or dragged out.
Drakken looked over his shoulder toward the corridor and barked at the guards, “Bring the prisoner to room 003. Use restraints if necessary. ”
I bit back a sneer. Let him try to restrain me, and he’d be in for a surprise. Fucking chain me, and I’d bring this whole place down.
Yes. Coldiron, the demon piped in. I sense it in this compound too. But do you know where it originates from?
I didn’t have that knowledge, even though I could tinker with it. The demon knew almost everything, and it was taunting me with what it wouldn’t share.
“What the hell, Drakken?” Caspian actually stepped between the dragon prince and me in a protective stance. “Since when is Max a prisoner? We rescued him from certain death in the Scorched Wastes. Look at him. He can barely stay on his feet, and you want to interrogate him? Possibly torture him?”
“I am looking at him.” Drakken’s gray eyes were chips of ice. “And I see him standing perfectly well. With plenty of attitude.”
“Let Max have some proper food first,” Aelindor said with measured courtesy. “Interrogating him while he’s this weak won’t yield reliable information.”
“We don’t show our enemies the courtesy and mercy they’ve never shown us.” Drakken’s voice was harsh. “If he’s innocent, he has nothing to fear. But if he’s a spy, I’ll make sure he tells us everything before we hang him.”
“Back off.” I met his hostile stare without flinching. This time, I wouldn’t look down. “I’m not a spy. I never planned to come to your fortress. I didn’t ask to be brought here either. If you don’t like me here, send me away right now. I’ll leave your lands immediately and never look back. ”
“Too late. You’re already deep in our territory,” he huffed. “And too bad for you, boy.”
I bristled at being called “boy” by someone probably only a couple years older than me.
“Or should I say little warlock?” His eyes narrowed. “Is Max Morning even your real name?”
I stared at him.
What the actual fuck?
He turned to address Aelindor, his tone shifting from disdain to respect. “He’s a warlock. No doubt. My dragon smelled witch blood in him—and not just any witch fucking bloodline.”