Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The chains bite into my wrists, cold iron against raw skin.
Consciousness comes to me slowly as I fight through the fog in my head.
I’m suspended here, arms pulled so high above my head that both shoulders scream from holding my weight.
Every small movement sends fresh agony through the joints.
My toes barely touch the floor. It’s just enough to take some pressure off my wrists if I stand on them, but not enough to find real relief.
The blindfold is soft, silk perhaps, but tied tight enough that not even a sliver of light gets through.
My weapons are gone. Obviously. Along with my boots.
But the wolf half-mask is still secured over my features.
The mechanism is impossible to disengage without knowing the trick.
It’s designed to preserve anonymity even in capture or in death.
The stone under my bare feet is smooth, worn, with a slight warmth that suggests we’re not in a dungeon. Somewhere lived-in.
I test the chains carefully. Quality work with no weak links. The ceiling mount is solid. I’m not breaking free through strength alone. I can’t reach anything useful with my arms positioned like this either.
But I don’t need eyes to know who’s in the room with me.
That particular mix of sandalwood and storm that clings to him like perfume.
Garrett Clayborne is sitting about six feet away, probably watching me wake up. His breathing is calm and controlled. He’s been here a while.
“I know you’re awake.” His voice carries that easy warmth I’ve observed for days.
No point pretending. I lift my head, though I can’t see him through the blindfold.
“Lord Clayborne.”
“Oh, we’re being formal? How polite for someone who’s been stalking me for three days.” The chair creaks as he shifts. Footsteps approach slowly. “Four days, actually. You were sloppier the first day. That roof on Merchant Row? The tiles are loose. It made quite a racket when you jumped.”
Four days. He’s known the entire time.
A cold weight settles deep in my stomach. Every careful observation, every moment I thought I was being clever—Garrett Clayborne knew. He let me follow him and think I had the advantage.
“Who sent you?” he asks.
“I can’t—”
He stands and I hear his footsteps circling me slowly, boots on stone. “Is there some external force preventing you? Perhaps a poison pill in your tooth that activates if you reveal certain information.”
He knows about the death capsule hidden in my tooth. How does a noble lordling know guild practices?
“Or maybe you simply decided that my life is worth less than your employer’s privacy.” His voice comes from over my left shoulder.
“Your life isn’t in danger from me,” I tell him.
“No?” He’s in front of me again. Close enough that I feel his breath on my face, warm and smelling faintly of wine.
“An assassin from Tiamat’s Grimsbane guild follows me for days and happens to be at the exact location where twelve people are killed.
I’m supposed to believe you’re here to what? Sightsee?”
“Those bandits were going to kill you.”
“I’m aware.” His fingers touch my jaw, turning my head side to side like he’s examining a sculpture. “And yet they’re the ones who ended up dead.”
The memory rushes back. The junction. Bodies everywhere. Blood pooling black in the moonlight. That moment of confusion before everything went dark.
“You killed them,” I say.
He laughs, soft and genuinely amused. “Who else would have done it? I am a Valorian Commander for fuck’s sake.”
“There were twelve of them.” Even for someone trained, those weren’t good odds. He’d been outnumbered, alone in the dark. I’ve seen seasoned guild members fall to less.
“There were fourteen. Two ran when they saw what was happening to their friends.” His hand drops from my face. “You missed those in your count.”
My breathing is unsteady. I tell myself it’s from the pain in my shoulders, from hanging here like meat in a butcher’s shop. But that’s not entirely true.
“You knocked me out,” I say.
“I did.” No apology in his tone. “So here we are.”
Here we are. Bound and blindfolded in some private room while Garrett Clayborne decides what to do with me.
I should be planning escape routes. Assessing weaknesses in my bonds. Instead I’m hyperaware of every sound he makes, every shift in the air when he moves.
“Let me go,” I say, testing.
“No.”
“I told you. I’m not here to hurt you,” I say it quietly.
“You’re lying. I don’t believe you.” His hand touches my chest, his palm flat against my sternum. “Your heart is racing.”
“Because I’m hanging from a fucking ceiling.” I bite out, glaring at him through the blindfold.
He pauses, considering. “Maybe.”
Garrett’s hand moves up to circle my throat, his thumb settling into the hollow where my pulse hammers. I go still despite myself.
Is he going to strangle me to death?
“You haven’t answered my question. Who sent you?” His breath ghosts across my collarbone.
I press my lips together.
Silence stretches. His hand remains on my throat, feeling every swallow and breath.
“Fine,” he says eventually. “We’ll come back to that. Let’s start with something easier. Your name.”
“No.”
“No?” He sounds amused at my refusal.
“I can’t tell you that. It’s part of the guild rules.” The admission feels like a mistake.
“Anonymity is sacred,” he mutters, confirming something he already knew. “I understand.”
Garrett doesn’t sound like he understands. He sounds like he’s playing with me. His hand drops from my throat. I hear him moving, footsteps circling behind me. Then his hands are on me again, patting down my sides.
“What are you doing?” I ask, voice tight.
“Making sure you’re not hiding any weapons I missed.” His hands move over me, checking my ribs and my waist. “Can’t be too careful with assassins.”
It’s a standard search and professional. There’s nothing inappropriate about it.
So why is my face burning?
His hands move to my hips and slide down the outside of my thighs. My breathing changes, coming faster. He runs his hand on my inner thigh…wait.
What was that just now?
“Are you alright?” His hands pause. “Your face is flushed. Do you have a fever?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” Concern colors his voice. “Your breathing changed.”
Because your hands are on me, you bastard.
“I said I’m fine,” I repeat through gritted teeth.
His thorough inspection proceeds. He pats down my legs with the same careful attention. I can feel my body responding. Heat pools low in my gut, everything below my waist waking up and taking notice. This is humiliating.
His hands continue their search. Back up the inside of my thighs. Getting dangerously close to—
“Your heart rate just spiked again,” he observes.
“Just finish the fucking search,” I snap, jaw clenching.
“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?” His hand lingers on my inner thigh. Not quite high enough to be inappropriate, but close. “I’m almost done.”
Please be done. Please don’t notice. Please don’t—
His hand brushes against the front of my pants. It’s barely a touch and probably accidental.
My hips jerk forward involuntarily.
The air goes still between us. Absolute silence stretches for three heartbeats.
“Well,” Garrett says quietly. “That’s interesting.”
Fuck.
“It’s a normal physical response,” I say far too quickly. “Means nothing.”
“Mm.” His hand presses deliberately on my cock this time, confirming. “Is that what this is? Physical reaction?”
“Yes,” I grunt.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” His hand remains where it is, not moving but not withdrawing either. “Your body is telling me something very different from your mouth.”
Heat floods my face. I’m grateful for the blindfold and my mask now, grateful he can’t see whatever expression I’m making.
“Take your hand off me,” I manage.
“Why? Does it bother you?” His thumb moves in a slow circle. Just enough pressure to make me bite back a sound. “Or do you want me to do more?”
“I want you to go fuck yourself.” I force the insult through ragged breathing.
He laughs and his hand withdraws. I should feel relieved. Instead I feel the loss and the damning sense of frustration.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll stop. For now.”
For now.
He’s moving away. I track him by sound alone.
“I should just leave you here. Let you hang for a while,” he suggests, voice drifting farther away. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling more cooperative.”
His footsteps cross the stone floor, getting fainter.
My pulse kicks up. The sound of him going away sends something close to fear shooting through my chest. I’ll be alone in the dark, bound with a fucking hard on. I have no idea when or if he’ll come back.
“Wait.”
“Wait?” He sounds delighted. “Are you asking me to stay?”
“I’ll answer your questions.” The offer comes out rushed.
“Will you now?” His voice lilts with amusement.
“Some of them,” I amend.
“Which ones?” He pushes back.
I swallow hard. “Ask again. I’ll tell you what I can.”
His footsteps approach unhurriedly. Each step brings him closer until I can feel his presence again. He’s right there, inches away, close enough to touch.
“Your name,” he says softly. “That’s all I want right now. Just your name.”
It’s against every rule. But if I don’t give him something, he’ll leave. And I can’t have that—
“Wolf.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Wolf,” he repeats, testing the sound. His voice wraps around the syllables like he’s tasting them. “Is that even real?”
“It’s real enough.” I swallow hard. My throat feels dry. “Guild issue. It’s what they gave me.”
His hand touches my face tenderly. Fingers brush across my cheek before his thumb traces the edge of my mask, following the leather where it meets skin.
“Wolf.” His fingers trail down to my jaw. “That’s a dangerous name.”
I can smell the scent of fae wine and mint in his breath. “I’m not dangerous right now.”
He moves again, circling. The measured footsteps of someone thinking.
“Who sent you?” he asks again.