Chapter 8
eight
OPHELIA
Reaper was waiting at the top of the stairs. He grinned when he saw me, and I didn't fake a smile in return.
I was terrible at pretending I liked people. There was no point in even trying, because I was genuinely that bad.
"Ready to get started, Pixie?" he asked.
"As long as someone in here has already warned you that my magic is weak," I said, following him when he gestured for me to do so.
"It's strong enough to make a difference for us, and we've got nothing but time."
That was accurate for him, but not for me. I only had a few more days in this hellhole, assuming River could figure out how to replicate my magic. Which was still up in the air.
Reaper would probably demand that I work for him during every one of the last few days, but I could deal with that if it meant staying alive and avoiding suspicion.
He led me into a cell that was stocked with at least a hundred folded blankets, a pile of pillows, and a large bucket full of other random things that they apparently wanted me to fix up for them.
I grabbed the blanket off the top of the pile on my way in, and sat down on the edge of the mattress that waited for me on the floor.
Instead of leaving me to my work, Reaper leaned his back against the bars near the entrance to the cell, and watched. His dark, swampy aura was a weight on my shoulders, but I tried to ignore it.
I wasn't positive how pixies used their magic, but I knew it didn't work the way mine did. We saw power as thin, threadlike strands. When we wanted to achieve something with our magic, we had to weave those strands together in a particular shape.
Learning to use angelic magic was both an art and a skill. It took an atrocious amount of time.
Most angels would've barely touched the surface by the time they reached adulthood, but my father was determined that I would be just as good as he was, despite him having centuries of experience.
Learning at my own pace hadn't been an option for me.
Mastering my power before I was old enough to leave home had been the only acceptable outcome.
Part of that mastery had been learning to use my magic without giving away what I was. Pixies were all vastly different in their usage, so I'd been taught how to mimic their movements while still weaving power the way I needed to.
It took a little more focus, but I could handle it. Mostly.
I thickened the blanket's fibers, and softened them too. The blanket wouldn't hold heat quite as well, and would fall apart a little faster thanks to the darkness of my magic, but its owner wouldn't realize that for a while.
Mending or changing a blanket was a different type of magic than building something like the penitentiary. Mending was a one-time thing, so my power regenerated quickly after I released the threads.
Building something that functioned on its own required permanent power to maintain it. That affected my power supply as long as the magic was in place, which was why I barely had anything in the tank.
Reaper held out a hand when I was done mending, and I tossed the blanket to him. He felt it and squeezed it. Then nodded his head for me to continue.
I grabbed the next blanket.
More of his people showed up throughout the day with comfort items and clothing to add to my to-do pile.
I was exhausted by lunch time, but they weren't willing to let me leave.
By dinner time, I was barely functioning.
Reaper smacked me lightly on the shoulder and told me I'd done well, when I passed him on the way to the cafeteria.
Despite my discomfort with Dante in the solitary confinement room earlier, I felt intense relief when I stepped into his waiting arms at the bottom of the staircase.
He growled something at Reaper, who just chuckled and made a dickish comment. I didn't look back at him. I was too worn out from the magic use and constant exposure his awful aura.
Dante held me to his chest as he led me to our cell immediately, instead of to the food line or our normal table.
"What are we doing?" I mumbled.
"I took our food to the cell already. Shiv needs to check with you on the magic, and you need to rest," Dante murmured, as we neared our space.
"Shit."
Dealing with River again was the last thing I wanted to do after a crappy day.
Thankfully, he just wanted to check that he was on the right track, so the visit was short. It was less awkward than our meeting in the laundry room, too. He seemed to be figuring out the way I'd woven my magic around the elevator, which I hoped was a good sign.
We wouldn't really know for sure until we reached the elevator and tried to leave.
I was refusing to admit there was a possibility that he wouldn't be able to weave himself out.
Jazz was a siren, so she was more at risk in the prison than most people, on top of being unable to leave River because of the mate thing. They both had to go when I did. Yes, I'd locked River in the penitentiary for a good reason, but he wasn't a risk to anyone.
I couldn’t leave Dante, either. He was starving, and had been for more than a decade. Reaper would definitely kill him if River and Jazz escaped, too.
All four of us had to leave together.
Worst case scenario, I would have to mate with Dante to get us out, and that was fucking terrifying.
I didn't want to say that, though.
I fell asleep while he was still eating, despite the discomfort in my shoulders and the pit in my stomach.
The next day went the same.
So did the day after that.
Dante waited at the bottom of the stairs with our food that evening, without my pottery. Jazz and River would be bringing that to the elevator when we met there in the morning.
Dante and I went to the solitary confinement hallway immediately.
Reaper made a rude joke as we walked away, but neither of us acknowledged it. He wanted me to keep "fixing" their shit the next day, so he wasn't going to do anything to us. Not really.
And we wanted to get the hell out of there in the morning, so we weren't going to rock the boat.
When we reached the door, I offered Dante my arm, and he bit me without hesitation. He was once again in zombie mode, so drained from the hunger that he was hardly functioning.
The solitary confinement door opened, and the magic carried us—and our plates of food—inside.
I'd fucked up the prison's magic in so many ways, without realizing it. It was going to take me forever to fix it. Assuming I could fix it at all.
I was trying not to think about any of that.
My shoulders hurt fiercely enough that I knew it was going to be seriously painful to let my wings out.
"Ready for your last night in this place?" I asked, as we ate.
"I'm trying not to get my hopes up."
I got that.
An escape probably sounded like a pipe dream to someone who had been there as long as he had. And so many people had been there even longer.
That was tomorrow's problem.
Or the day after tomorrow's, depending on how the escape went. If it went poorly enough, it was no one's problem, because I'd die and the magic would disappear completely.
We finished our food and put our plates on the ground, then curled up in bed together.
It was strange for me to feel so physically comfortable with Dante. Any affection that had been building on my end had disappeared after what he said while we were fucking a few days earlier, but the comfort was still there.
I'd never felt comfort around anyone. Not ever. River was the only person I'd ever been even somewhat close to, but I'd never felt at ease around him the way I was with Dante.
The sensation was nice, but I'd be glad to put it in my past. Being comfortable around someone wasn't good for me. It was too easy for me to get caught up in the feeling, and get too attached.
Dante silently massaged the muscles around my wings, and I slowly eased them into place. My eyes burned from the pain as I did, but the pressure he applied to the sore spots was enough to make it bearable.
I lifted my wrist back to his mouth, and he took a few more swallows before releasing me.
He was still working on the knots on my back when I fell asleep moments later.
He was awake before me. I wasn't sure if he slept at all, because I could tell I hadn't slept much.
We both stayed where we were, his eyes on the ceiling and mine on the thick curve of the bicep closest to my face.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
"What's your plan after you get back?" I finally asked him, my voice soft.
"It's been a long time since I let myself consider going back to my old life." His admission was as quiet as my words had been.
"I'm sure you still have an idea."
He didn't reply immediately. Eventually, he said, "Grayson will expect me to retake my throne as soon as I'm back. It won't take long. Just one fight. I'll win. It doesn't seem like it down here, but I'm the strongest vampire in the city. Or I was."
"Were you in the Cabinet?"
"No. Gray and Jazz handled that." He paused before sighing. "I'm sure my businesses are all a fucking mess. Gray probably hired someone to deal with all my shit, and no one cares the way I do. Or did."
"So you go home, retake your throne, and start getting your businesses back in order?"
"I guess."
"Sounds like hell to me."
He didn't disagree. "What about you? What comes after this?"
"I'm probably going to spend the rest of my life staring lustily at my pottery wheel while trying to figure out how to get a hundred innocent people out of my own prison."
"Fun."
"Yeah, right."
There was a moment of quiet between us. It was still comfortable, somehow.
"I could help," Dante said. "If there's something I could help with. I'm not sure how it all works, but I'd like to."
"You couldn't. It has to be me. I appreciate the offer, though."
He nodded. "I still mean what I said a few days ago. If everything goes to shit when we try to leave…"
"We're not talking about that." I squeezed my eyes shut.
There was no world in which I was prepared in any way to be someone's mate. Even Dante's.