Chapter Thirteen
Wynter followed behind Cain as he threw open the solar room door and barged inside, his attention slamming on Ishtar, who sat on an elaborate, almost throne-like chair. The only other person in the room was one of her aides—inconveniently, it wasn’t Shelia.
The female Ancient shot to her feet, her brow furrowed in both outrage and confusion as not only Wynter and Cain but Azazel, Seth, Dantalion, and Lilith filed inside while another of Ishtar’s aides flapped nervously behind them. Eve—who’d weirdly struggled to look Wynter in the eye—had chosen to head back to Seth’s Keep rather than be part of the confrontation.
“What on Earth do you all think you are doing? I see that the witch has been found.”
She sniffed at Cain. “It’s very hypocritical of you to march into my home without waiting for an invitation when you constantly criticize me for . . . Why do you have blood on you?”
“It isn’t mine,”
Cain bit out. “Where is Shelia?”
Ishtar bristled at his tone. “Excuse me?”
“Where. Is. She?”
“What business is that of yours?”
He advanced on the female Ancient fast. “If I find out you had anything to do with what happened to Wynter, you are fucking dead.”
Ishtar’s back snapped straight. “What am I being accused of now?”
Wynter stepped forward. “Your aide teleported me to a spot not far from Aeon to deliver me to four vampires from Devil’s Cradle—they’d decided it would be a fine idea to cash in on the bounty. Which it wasn’t. They’re dead now. But Shelia? She teleported away before I had the chance to deal with her. So she’s alive. And that’s a problem for me.”
“And for me,”
said Cain. “Where is she?”
“Shelia would not do this,”
stated Ishtar. “It doesn’t even make sense that she would be involved. The only incentive she would have to betray you would be to enjoy the bounty. Handing the witch over to vampires for them to enjoy it, well, there would be nothing in it for her.”
“But there would be something in it for you,”
Lilith cut in. “Wynter would finally be gone . . . just as you have wanted from the very beginning.”
Ishtar’s face went crimson with anger. “I had nothing to do with whatever happened to her. And I find it difficult to believe that Shelia did.”
“Then you’ll have no problem calling her here to question her, will you?”
asked Dantalion, his tone smooth but dangerous.
Ishtar made a haughty sound. “Fine.”
She cut her gaze to the aide who’d hurried after them when they barged into the solar room. “Have Shelia brought to me now. Do not tell her what this is about. I will know if you did.”
Swallowing hard, the aide did an honest to God’s curtsy and then left.
Ishtar stared at Wynter. “If you have falsely accused one of my aides—”
“What reason could she possibly have to do that?”
asked Seth, folding his arms.
Ishtar gave him a look that questioned his intelligence. “So that Cain would suspect and turn on me, of course. She could be spurring him to kill me.”
Wynter narrowed her eyes. “If there ever comes a time when I want you dead, I’ll see to it myself—I don’t need anyone to do it for me. You know that.”
Ishtar’s eyelids flickered. Yeah, she knew it.
“Did you put your aide up to this?”
Azazel asked the Ancient.
Ishtar’s face hardened. “Does it really make sense to you that at a time of great upheaval, when we are so close to gaining what we want and it is more necessary than ever that all the Ancients stick together, I would truly do something like that?”
Actually, no, it didn’t. Cain must have doubted it also because, well, he hadn’t yanked her head right off her body.
A knock came at the door, and Ishtar called for the new arrival to enter.
Shelia breezed inside with a cocky strut. “You called for me, Your Grace?”
She idly let her gaze drift over the others in the room. When her eyes landed on Wynter, her face drained of color. Stark fear crossed her features and glittered in her eyes.
Wynter gave her a dark grin. “If you hadn’t been so keen to teleport away quickly, you would have noticed that things didn’t exactly go to plan for you or the vampires.”
Squinting in suspicion, Ishtar strolled toward the aide. “The witch is telling the truth?”
Shelia’s eyes widened. “No, of course not! She is Cain’s consort. I would never be so stupid as to anger an Ancient.”
Cain growled. “You lie.”
Shelia cast him a brief sideways look, her posture submissive. “I do not, I swear to you I do not.”
Cain’s brow hiked up. “So you are calling my consort a liar?”
“I am making no accusations, I am simply stating my innocence.”
Innocence my ass. “No one’s going to buy your bullshit, Shelia. You teleported me to the vampires, you advised them to shoot me in the leg to keep me weak, and you told me to enjoy my time with Adam. You allegedly also told the vamps that an iron bullet to the heart or brain would kill me. It may interest you to know that you were wrong.”
Shelia’s gaze clashed with hers. “I said no such thing to anyone—”
“Stop fucking lying!”
Cain shouted, the words echoing with a power that Wynter felt in her bones.
Shelia jumped. “I swear I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,”
said Ishtar, squinting. “I see it.”
Wynter blinked, shocked by the Ancient failing to take her aide’s side. If the faces of the other Ancients were anything to go by, they were equally surprised.
Shelia shook her head in denial.
“Why would you assist those vampires?”
Ishtar demanded. “What did they offer you that convinced you to betray me in such a way?”
“I would never betray you,”
Shelia swore.
Ishtar’s nostrils flared. “I will never understand why, but Cain took the witch as his consort. By delivering her to those vampires, you betrayed him. And to betray one Ancient is to betray them all.”
“I thought you’d want her gone!”
“If I wanted her gone, she would be gone.”
Wynter snorted. The Ancient really shouldn’t be so sure of that.
Shelia began to sob. “I’m sorry.”
“Your apologies are wasted,”
Cain snarled. He sliced his gaze to Ishtar. “I won’t allow her to live.”
Ishtar jutted out her chin. “She is my aide. It is my right to punish her.”
Cain prowled toward her like a predator eager to battle another. “Do not test me. My consort could have died because of what she did. The right to end the bitch’s life is mine.”
“I cannot permit such an act to go unaddressed by me, or it would encourage others to believe they can take similar risks,”
said Ishtar.
“Then you may punish her,”
began Cain, “but the killing blow will be mine.”
Wynter would much rather that the killing blow was hers, but she knew he needed this; knew that he needed to avenge her in some way. And since she’d already taken care of the vampires, there was only the aide left to punish.
“I can agree to that,”
Ishtar told him, surprising Wynter—the female Ancient wasn’t the most reasonable of people. “It will be a public execution. An example needs to be made of her.”
“Agreed,”
said Cain.
Ishtar took a step toward him. “But let me be clear on this. I will not pay for Shelia’s betrayal. No matter what you might wish to believe, I did not put her up to this.”
Cain cocked his head in an almost wolf-like way. “Ishtar . . . if I’d thought you were behind this, you’d already be dead.”
They all knew that was true.
It was Dantalion and Azazel who dragged Shelia out of the Keep and into the courtyard of the bailey. The two males then backed away, joining Wynter and the other Ancients who were forming a circle around the sobbing aide.
The people in the bailey poured out of the workshops, barn, and other buildings to gather around, curious. Seeing the gory state of Wynter, many cast her odd looks. They really should be used to this by now.
Trembling, Shelia hugged herself, her gaze finding Wynter. There was no remorse or apology in those eyes. Only resentment and fear. A bone-chilling fear.
Wynter gave an unconcerned shrug. “I told you that you’d die for this.”
Ishtar stepped into the circle. “One of my very own aides betrayed me,”
she called out, ensuring her voice carried to the large crowd. “How exactly? By betraying my fellow Ancient. She was party to a plan to take his consort to Aeon. Treachery is not something that I take lightly. It will never go unpunished. It will never earn a traitor anything other than an excruciating death. Apparently, some people have forgotten that. Well, let me refresh your memories.”
And then Shelia dropped to her knees, screaming like someone was ripping apart her entire being. It reminded Wynter of the time that Cain had tortured a berserker by lashing out at his soul. That was the thing . . . When an Ancient had rights to your soul, they couldn’t only cause you pleasure on an almost unbearable scale; they could also cause you the same scale of pain.
Still screaming, Shelia fell forward, bracing herself on her hands and knees. Vessels in her eyes burst. Sweat broke out on her flushed skin. Veins stood out on her face and neck.
Ishtar gave her no mercy or reprieve. Each time it looked like Shelia might pass out, the Ancient eased off for a few moments. But then the torture would begin again. It went on and on and on.
Shelia coughed up blood, making Wynter wonder if the screaming had burst blood vessels in the aide’s throat or lungs. She crumpled to the ground, curling up in a ball as if it would protect her from the onslaught of pain. But nothing could.
Wynter noticed that the crowd—which kept on growing, as though people were drawn by the cries—weren’t finding it easy to watch. Some flinched or glanced away. Others looked nauseous and were clamping their lips tightly shut. But none appeared eager to speak up on the screaming woman’s behalf.
Wynter’s coven would be so sorry they’d missed this. They hadn’t yet returned from searching for her, so she wasn’t able to check in with them.
On the ground, Shelia arched and kicked her legs as the agony continued. Her wails became hoarse, strangled cries. And Wynter knew that the woman would mentally break if Ishtar didn’t pull back sometime soon.
Maybe Cain had that same thought, because he stepped into the circle and held up his hand, indicating for the female Ancient to stop. Ishtar narrowed her eyes, so affronted by the authoritative gesture that she defiantly kept up the torture for a few more moments. But then, finally, she stopped.
Cain circled the aide as she shivered and whimpered. Her muscles occasionally spasmed, and she mumbled indecipherable words here and there.
Unlike Ishtar, he didn’t look at or address the crowd. And Wynter knew it was because, as much as the idea of a public execution might suit him, he wasn’t really doing this for them. He didn’t care to make a production out of this. His focus was on Shelia, on making the woman suffer purely because, after what she’d done, it would fucking please him.
Knowing what he did next would be bad, Wynter braced herself—or, more specifically, her stomach. She wouldn’t look away. She wouldn’t show any disgust, no matter what he did. He’d already returned that favor by never backing away whenever she came to him looking exactly as she did right then.
He lifted his hand, palm up, and a shimmering wave of power gathered in a cloud-like form. The “cloud”
twisted, swirled, and pulsed. Faster and faster and faster. Until it shifted, changing color and form, becoming something else.
Becoming a swarm of bees.
Big-ass bees that buzzed almost . . . frantically. Angrily, even. Oh hell.
The insects descended on Shelia, covering her from head to toe. She bucked and spasmed, flapping her hands and weakly kicking her legs. The bees didn’t fly away, undeterred. Some crawled into her ears and mouth—possibly even into other orifices.
Crack.
Wynter almost jolted at the sound. There was another crack. And another. It was only then she realized that one of Shelia’s arms was now twisted awkwardly. Jesus.
Cold fingers danced over Wynter’s nape. It was sometimes easy for her to forget how powerful Cain was; how effortlessly he could inflict pain; how very little mercy ran through his veins.
More bones cracked. More body parts twisted at unnatural angles. Until the woman looked like a damn contortionist. It was cruel and sadistic—there were no two ways about it. Shelia’s weak cries of pain were lost beneath the buzzing.
It was just as Shelia looked like she didn’t have much life left in her that there was one final crack. Her neck had been broken. The bees gradually faded, eventually disintegrating into nothing. As Leviathans were literal gateways to hell, there was only one place Shelia’s soul would go, no matter how many good deeds she might have done in her life—the very depths of hell.
Bon voyage.
No one spoke. Or moved. Or even breathed too loud. Including the other Ancients. The last thing anyone appeared to want was Cain’s attention.
His gaze sought Wynter. Darkened. Intensified. Gleamed. An array of emotions flickered fast in those eyes—too fast for her to discern them—as if each was fighting for dominance.
Despite that her insides were still doing sickly little flips, she held out her hand, letting him know that she wouldn’t turn away from him; that she wasn’t disgusted by what he’d done or who he was.
Oh, the torture had been hard to watch for sure. And it could be said that he’d taken it further than he’d needed to. But she wasn’t sure she’d have been any less merciful in his position, if she was honest. And considering Adam would have done far worse to Wynter—something that had probably driven Cain to make Shelia’s death so agonizing—it was seriously difficult to feel any sympathy for her.
Cain stalked straight to Wynter and slipped his hand into hers. “Home,”
he said. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a warning. A message that he wasn’t prepared to part from her any time soon.
Since she wasn’t feeling the need to have any space or time away from him, she agreed, “Home.”
*
Dragging a brush through her wet hair, Wynter sighed at the closed bathroom door. How long had he been in there? Twenty minutes? Maybe more? She had no idea. But he was definitely still showering, because she could hear water splattering tile.
She was really gonna have to do something to snap Cain out of whatever zone he was in. The moment they’d entered the bedchamber, he’d released her hand and hadn’t touched her since. Not even to help her wash off the blood. Hell, he hadn’t even joined her in the shower stall. Unless they were in a rush to be somewhere, it was very rare that they showered separately.
It didn’t seem like he needed space from her at the moment. In fact, each time he looked at her, it seemed like he wanted nothing more than to drag her to him and hold her close. But he’d determinedly put some physical distance between them, and she couldn’t understand why.
One thing Wynter could be certain of was that it wasn’t a case of him not wanting to touch her while metaphorical blood was on his hands. He’d touched her in the past when actual blood stained his hands. They’d cleaned each other off after battles, big and small.
Wynter might have thought that he was simply so pissed he worried he’d hurt her if he touched her, but that didn’t ring true. Cain had more control over his emotions than most people. Sure, rage could ride him hard in the right circumstances, but he never outwardly lost his shit. He never violently vented on those who didn’t deserve it.
Even the way he’d handled Shelia had been very controlled and methodical. Cain was a damn expert at sucking in his emotions and maintaining his composure. It would take super extreme occurrences to make it evaporate.
She heard the shower shut off. About time. Wynter set her brush on the top of the dresser.
It was a few moments before he strode out of the bathroom, a towel looped around his hips. Hot damn. All that hard, tattooed muscle glistening with tiny droplets of water . . . She wanted to lick them all up. Lick him all up.
His gaze immediately sought her out, as if he simply needed to know she was still there. He drank in the sight of her in his shirt. She’d slipped it on, knowing he liked seeing her wearing his tees or shirts. He didn’t react, though. Didn’t speak at all about any damn thing. Instead, he silently dried himself off and then pulled on sweatpants and a tee.
She was about to ask if he was ready to talk, but then knuckles rapped on the door. He opened it, took a tray of food from whoever stood on the other side of the door, and then closed it.
The scents of cooked vegetables and grilled meat wafted her way, making her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and she was famished.
He set the tray on the table and gestured at the seat she usually claimed. As Wynter sat, he took the one opposite her.
Although she was starved, she reached for the bottle of water first. She’d downed a full bottle on the way to Ishtar’s Keep, but the thirst was still a tickle in her throat. She really did need one of Anabel’s rejuvenating potions. But her coven clearly hadn’t yet arrived back at Devil’s Cradle or they’d have come here looking for her by now.
She and Cain ate in relative silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was weighted. That didn’t stop her from scoffing down her food. Once they were done, he set the tray on the floor outside the chamber.
Rising from her chair, she walked toward him, not whatsoever impressed when he backed away. She folded her arms. “Okay, what gives?”
His jaw tightened. “I can’t put my hands on you right now.”
“Of course you can.”
“No, I can’t. Won’t.”
“And why not?”
His fingers flexed. “It’s simply better this way.”
“If you’re going to ask for space or some shit—”
“Not space. I want you here. I want you where I can see you. But I can’t touch you yet.”
“You’re going to need to explain that, because I don’t get it.”
His eyes flaring, he stalked toward her, all smolder and sexual aggression. “If I put my hands on you, I won’t be able to merely hold you. There’ll be no soft, lazy kiss. I’ll fucking consume you. No lie, baby, I will take and take and take. Feast and mark and fuck. I’ll make you come as many times as I want. I won’t stop until I’ve had enough. You’ll feel utterly wrecked by the time I’m done. There won’t be a single thought left in your head, because I’ll have thoroughly fucked every corner of it.”