Chapter 27
The hand clasped over my mouth tasted like sweat and blood.
My attacker gripped my arms, forcing them behind my back at a painful angle, his rough fingers encircling my wrists like manacles even as I struggled to free myself. Terror flooded through me, driving shards of cold panic through my veins.
I was caught. My heart threatened to burst from my ribcage as I fought to wriggle out of my captor’s grasp, but the hand on my mouth only tightened until black specks dotted in my vision. Just before darkness closed in, the hand loosened ever so slightly, and I gasped, desperate for air.
“If you scream, I’ll gut you right here in this ward,” the voice hissed.
My attacker’s hands were rough as they spun me around and pushed me up against the wall.
I stared up into the ruthless green eyes of Evren Dronov.
My shock was so complete that I forgot to seize the chance to run away when he released my wrists.
My fingers curled over my left wrist, already feeling bruises blooming there.
The Bloodweaver awaits on tenterhooks.
The sprite, it seemed, had correctly predicted Evren’s appearance tonight. But why had he snuck across campus before dawn to accost me in the sick ward?
To kill you, obviously, my brain supplied unhelpfully.
If Evren truly meant to be rid of me, my only consolation was that he could not torture me the way he did the others.
As if deciphering the relief in my expression, Evren snarled, “I may not be able to glamour you, mortal girl, but I’m sure we could have fun in other ways.”
My heart lodged in my throat as Evren’s lips unfurled into a cruel grin, displaying two rows of gleaming white teeth.
“Your Darkseer isn’t here to protect you this time,” he reminded me.
I swallowed thickly. “What do you want from me?”
Where was Dr. Hobart and her busy-bodying when I needed her?
“You know full well why I’m here,” he growled. When I shook my head in response, he rolled his eyes like I was being incredibly daft.
“The Book, girl. I know your Darkseer has it. Tell me where it is.”
I fought to keep my face blank, terrified I might at once betray the knowledge that the Book lay hidden inside my rucksack in the other room, mere feet away.
Thinking as quickly as I could against the hum of adrenaline still coursing through my body, I blurted, “I… I lost it. I left it in the library and… someone must’ve stolen it. ”
Even as the lie tumbled from my lips, I knew it rang false.
Evren knew it too. His emerald eyes were cold as they bored into mine. “Liar,” he snarled, shoving me back against the wall.
“Why would I lie?” I retorted.
“Because you’re the Darkseer’s pet.” Evren sneered as his gaze dropped to my thigh. To the tattoo concealed beneath my hospital gown. “Aren’t you?” His tone was laced with disdain.
Despite the danger I was in, my cheeks flushed with indignation at the term “pet,” but wasn’t that what I’d told Zhara?
That I belonged to the Darkseer? It was safer to allow the Order to believe Casimir had marked me as his.
The problem was, Evren would never trust me if he thought I was loyal to Casimir.
Evren’s grip tightened, hard enough to leave bruises in the soft tissue around my shoulders.
I ground my jaw, panic lacing my every thought. To survive this, I needed to make the Bloodweaver believe I was bound to Casimir against my will. That if I was his pet, I was at least a disloyal one.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I said carefully. “My… arrangement with the Darkseer was not one I entered into willingly.” Half-truths were more believable than outright lies.
Evren inclined his head, his interest piqued. “Oh?”
“Yes, Casimir tricked me into making a bargain with him.”
Evren’s expression remained skeptical.
“He…” Shit, I was really going to have to make Casimir look like the villain here. “He offered me protection, in exchange for my… company,” I said, wincing at the way Evren’s eyes narrowed at the implication.
“Why should I care about the nature of your bargain with the Darkseer?” Evren said. “Slave or not, you remain his pet.”
I forced myself to reply. “Because I have information that might interest you.”
My attacker blinked in surprise and then scowled in irritation. “Go on,” he prompted.
“There’s something the Darkseer’s not telling me. I think it has to do with the Keeper’s Heir. He refuses to entertain my ideas about who they might be.”
Now I was really exaggerating. Even if Casimir was withholding his suspicions, I had enough experience with liars to know that Casimir wasn’t outright lying to me about the Heir’s identity.
But maybe this was a good opportunity to lead the Order down the wrong path.
Let them tangle themselves up in dead ends.
Surprise flashed in Evren’s emerald eyes. “You think he knows who the Heir is?” His right hand left my shoulder to grip around my throat. “Why should I believe you?” he hissed.
My mouth had gone bone dry. I struggled to draw air into my lungs as his fingers squeezed—
“Why would I lie?” I rasped.
His fingers loosened ever so slightly to allow me to speak.
“Y-you Daemons have brought me nothing but trouble ever since you showed up at Ouverham. Casimir’s no different. He’s—” Dangerous. Violent. Sweet. “He’s not someone I can trust.”
“Is that right?” He gave a disbelieving snort.
My pulse was pounding in my ears, my very blood reminding me just how vulnerable I was. How human. A concussed, mortal girl, dressed in a thin hospital gown, at the mercy of one of the worst Daemons I’d ever known.
“You made a grievous error when you refused Devereaux’s offer,” he growled, his nails digging into my skin, carving little half-moons in my flesh.
When I’d thrown Devereaux’s offer back in his face, I hadn’t expected him to forget the slight, but I also hadn’t anticipated that he’d send the Bloodweaver after me.
With a sinking horror, I understood that my disloyalty, feigned or not, was not enough.
Not nearly enough for someone like Evren to allow me to leave this darkened hallway alive.
I had to offer him something else. Something too tempting to pass up.
Inhaling a ragged breath, I ignored the mounting pain in my throat and forced myself to meet his eye. “If you let me go, I’ll make a bargain with you.”
Even as I spoke the words, I knew they spelled disaster—and yet, Evren would never have believed I was disloyal to Casimir for any lesser price. Not unless I agreed to do something truly unforgivable. I waited for his reply, hardly daring to breathe.
Evren’s answering grin was crueler than I could bear.
“My orders are to eliminate you as a potential obstacle,” he said, but then, to my surprise, he released me to fold his arms across his broad chest, still pinning me with a ruthless glare.
My hand automatically went to my throat, assessing the damage. “You don’t have to kill me to do that,” I rasped out, nearly choking on my fear.
Evren reached out to tug at a lock of my hair before letting it fall. He hummed thoughtfully. “And yet, killing you would be the simplest option. I’d save myself a lot of trouble.”
I tried not to grind my teeth together as his eyes ran over my body, lingering on the swell of my hips beneath the thin hospital gown. My stomach lurched sickeningly.
“My tastes are not so debased as the Darkseer’s, girl,” he’d once spat at me.
“Hear my offer first.”
“Make your case, girl, and make it quick.”
Panic slithered through me. What could I offer Evren to persuade him not to murder me in cold blood?
Every opponent has a weakness. You must root it out and exploit it.
What was Evren’s weakness? Pride? Envy? I thought back to that night in the Tusk, the look on Evren’s face upon discovering I was immune to his glamour.
I’d humiliated him. Certainly, he envied Devereaux’s power, but even more than that, he feared being perceived as weak.
What better way to tempt him by offering a chance at redemption in the eyes of his peers?
Seizing upon Evren’s wounded vanity was my only hope.
Taking care to keep my voice calm and even, I began in earnest. “We both know your glamours don’t work on me—” Evren growled his discontent, so I went on quickly, “but what if there was a way to reverse whatever genetic glitch it is that makes my blood immune to your glamour?”
Was such a thing even possible? I didn’t know.
He stared at me, stunned, and then burst into laughter.
“You can’t be serious. You would welcome pain and suffering where your blood protects you?
” he said, so surprised by my offer that he forgot to be menacing.
Abruptly, he leaned in, and I flinched at the vitriol in his voice.
“Why should I bother when there are so many other ways I can make you hurt?”
My lip trembled. Indeed, why bother with glamours when he could just stab me with a knife or crush my head against a wall?
And then I remembered something about the conversation I’d overheard between Evren and Devereaux in the observatory.
“Your ego bruises far too easily, Dronov. Don’t let it bother you.”
Evren had replied, “Of course it fucking bothers me! It would torment you, too, don’t deny it, Dev. I just don’t understand…”
My gaze narrowed on the Bloodweaver, scrutinizing his guarded expression.
Evren’s pride had taken a beating that fatal evening in the Tusk when he discovered his glamours were futile against me.
It wasn’t a leap to surmise that he was consumed with envy, jealous of his friends who could glamour me with a single touch while he remained impotent.
Yes, I thought, he could use a blade, but it wouldn’t give him a tenth of the satisfaction of watching me writhe under his glamour. I had to hope that his ego would win out.
I forced myself to smile. “You could hurt me in other ways,” I conceded, “but I imagine it would be much more fun to glamour me instead.”