Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Sometime after sunset, Sammy drifted awake to the soft percussion of rain on the window and the distant rumble of thunder. The darkness outside pressed close, thick and impenetrable, clouds swallowing any trace of the moon or stars.
Dominic’s arm was slung across his hip, an anchor of warmth and security. The steady rise and fall of his chest against Sammy’s back felt like a lullaby, soothing him back to sleep, but while his mind begged for more rest, his bladder had other ideas.
With a nearly silent groan, he eased out of his mate’s arms, careful not to wake him, and untangled his legs where they had become wrapped in the quilt. His body felt heavy and sluggish, his limbs uncooperative as he plodded toward the en suite, finding his way through blurry eyes.
Hazy amber light glowed from the underside of the bathroom vanity, barely bright enough to illuminate his path. He shuffled toward it, his head foggy with sleep.
Just as he reached the threshold, though, a wave of dizziness crashed over him, sending him stumbling into the doorframe.
Gasping, he gripped the wood and squeezed his eyes shut, pulling in deep breaths through his nose as he fought off a wave of nausea. His head swam, and his pulse pounded in his ears.
For a heartbeat, he worried he might pass out, but then, as quickly as it had come, the sensation faded, leaving him shaken but still standing.
Dominic had warned him there might be side-effects while his body recalibrated. It made sense. He was bound to a powerful mystic, and although he couldn’t access Dominic’s magic, ribbons of it flowed through him now.
He just hadn’t expected the transition to be quite so severe.
Once he felt stable, he pushed off the doorframe and continued into the bathroom.
Only, instead of the transition from plush carpet to smooth, heated tiles, he stepped forward onto cold, uneven stones. Then bright light flooded his vision without warning, forcing him to recoil as he hissed like a startled kitten.
His stomach swooped and his chest tightened with the unmistakable sensation of a jump. Normally, he didn’t mind being magically relocated, but this time, a little warning would have been nice.
“Damn it, Dom!” The words slipped out, half annoyance, half accusation, as he shielded his eyes and tried to orient himself. “What the hell?”
“Now, now, sweetheart. Language.”
He froze.
He knew that voice—soft, syrupy, and threaded with malice that feigned charm—but he hadn’t heard it in almost a decade. His heart stuttered painfully. The hairs on his arms stood on end, a warning prickling his skin.
On instinct, he reached for Dominic through their bond, calling his mate’s name inside his head.
Nothing.
No static, no gentle reassurance, not even the distant echo of Dominic’s presence. Only emptiness, a void where his mate should have been. He was cut off, and that realization brought a new spike of fear.
He was, for now, utterly alone.
Lowering his hand, he blinked rapidly against the harsh light, his vision blurring with tears. He caught only glimpses of his surroundings, the vast room coming into focus in pieces.
Arched windows that stretched toward soaring ceilings. Porcelain tiles meant to look like natural stone.
Crisp reds and glossy blacks. Velvet and gold. A rug so rich in color it looked almost like spilled blood in the glare.
A fireplace stretched up the far wall in carved black wood and antique gold, the opening tall enough to step through. Fire danced within its belly, the flames enclosed by a curved gate that gave the hearth the unsettling appearance of a gilded cage.
Yet, apart from a blood-red sectional adrift in the middle of the room, and a lone chair near the fireplace, the space was eerily empty.
Finally, his gaze landed on a female with fiery red hair that fell in loose waves to her waist. Petite, almost frail, it would be easy to dismiss her as harmless, but he knew better.
Even now, he could see the glint of impatience in her sapphire eyes, could practically smell the casual cruelty she wore like cheap perfume.
“Mother,” he said coolly. “Where am I?”
“Long Island.” She sounded distracted as she flicked her fingers at him, covering his nude body with a white robe.
The fabric hung stiffly off his shoulders, and the coarse fibers scratched his skin. With snap closures instead of a belt, it looked like a hospital gown.
“Why am I here?”
“For the party, of course.” She held her arms out, showing off a strapless gown in a shade of green that clashed terribly with her hair. “I told Henri to wait,” she added under her breath, her irritation unmistakable. “He’s a thousand years old. You’d think he could wait one more day.”
Shaking out the hem of her skirt, she jerked her head up and stared at Sammy expectantly, as if seeking his agreement.
He gave her nothing.
He had never heard of this Henri person, but he could guess a few things about him.
Old. Wealthy. Powerful. The type of person who knew what he wanted and was used to getting it by whatever means necessary.
“Come now. There isn’t much time, and we have to get you ready to meet the guests.”
Sammy stepped back and jerked his arm away when she reached for him. “No.”
“No?” Her voice dipped low and dangerous, and her eyes flashed with challenge. “I’m sorry.” She took on a saccharine tone laced with thinly veiled condescension. “You seem confused because it sounds like you think you have a choice.”
Sammy clenched his fists at his sides and struggled not to wilt under her penetrating glare. He knew the price for defiance, remembered well her creative punishments for his insolence.
But he wasn’t a kid anymore. Maybe he didn’t have the power to fight against her, but that didn’t mean he was helpless anymore.
He just had to survive until Dominic came for him.
Planting his feet, he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m not going.”
“You always were such a crybaby.” She sighed and reached for him again. “We really don’t have time for one of your tantrums, Samuel.”
He took another step back and searched her face for something, anything, redeemable. Instead, he found only indifference beneath a layer of practiced neutrality.
“Why are you like this?”
It wasn’t a rhetorical question. He really wanted to know what had happened to make her this way. Or had she simply been born without empathy, compassion, or common decency?
“Like what?” Valerie flipped her hair and pulled her painted lips into a semblance of a smile. “Beautiful? Rich? Desirable?”
“A bitch,” he deadpanned.
“Language!”
Her shriek ricocheted around the room, and sharp, searing pain lanced across his back, ripping open his skin and tearing a strangled scream from his throat. Before he could even catch his breath, the invisible whip cracked again.
Then again.
Over and over, cursed barbs clawed at him, the unrelenting tempo forcing him to his knees.
Sweat beaded along his hairline as heat rushed to his face, and his heart pounded frantically, the sound throbbing in his ears. His torso jerked with every blow, his muscles seizing with the effort to keep him upright.
“Is that it?” He knew he shouldn’t provoke her, but anger made him reckless. “Is that the best you can do?”
The skin stretched taut over his jaw and cheeks as he strained against another lash of the whip. Slumped forward, shoulders sagging, he curled his fingers against the stones and bit back another scream, unwilling to give her the satisfaction.
But while she might make him wish he were dead, she wouldn’t actually kill him. She needed him too much. He also doubted she would leave any lasting damage.
Her buyer wouldn’t like that.
“Are you ready to cooperate now?”
Her voice held no hint of guilt or remorse. Only mild irritation, as if he were an unruly weed she had found growing in the garden.
Though he gave no agreement, verbal or otherwise, the assault ended as abruptly as it had begun. The throbbing pain faded to a low hum, and a wave of heat spread down his back as the skin knitted itself back together.
Breathing heavily, he climbed to his feet on shaking legs. Weak, exhausted, and quickly losing the will to fight back, he asked a question instead. Something he had wondered about his whole life.
“Did you ever love me?”
“Really.” The word was said as a complete sentence, a whole thought, and it oozed both contempt and disappointment. “Don’t be so dramatic. I fed you. Clothed you. Made sure you got an education.”
Mother of the Fucking Year. Did she want praise and a gold star for doing the bare minimum?
Valerie sighed. “We really don’t have time for this. Let’s go.”
Invisible shackles fastened around his wrists, snapping his hands together and pulling his arms out in front of him. This time, when she started moving, the magical tether jerked him off balance, leaving him no choice but to follow.
As they neared the exit, the double doors sprang open, seemingly of their own accord. He was dragged past two brutal looking guards into a marbled corridor lined with columns, warped mirrors, and bowl-shaped wall sconces on both sides.
“To be honest, I never wanted to be a mother.”
“But you’re so good at it,” he mumbled under his breath.
“It was your father who convinced me to keep you when we found out I was pregnant.”
There was no love in her voice, no fondness for a man she had once shared her life with. Sammy had never met his father. According to Valerie, he had died before she’d given birth, but she had never offered specifics. She hadn’t kept pictures of him or old videos. No love letters or trinkets.
All Sammy really knew about him was that his dad had been a changeling, and he’d been named after him.
At the end of the hallway, a panel in the wall slid to the side, revealing a dimly lit stairwell that spiraled upward and out of sight.