Chapter 2
GREY
Iclawed at my throat, tearing at the flesh around the collar.
A twisted smile tugged at the corner of my lips as blood flowed down the corded muscles of my neck.
Self-mutilation was the only way to pass the time in this godforsaken place.
The days blended together, making it difficult to tell how long I’d been down here.
But it couldn’t have been more than six months.
“Fuck,” I snarled, unclenching my hands from the collar, trying to get my breathing under control.
I gasped at the same moment my power surged, sending a shock of electricity, knocking me on my ass.
The nauseating smell of burnt flesh filled the air as my limbs jerked and went limp.
The collar not only bound my powers but used them against me.
The cold from the cement floor seeped into my bones as I lay there, staring up at the hell’s trap etched on the ceiling above. The binding magic pressed down on me, a suffocating weight. All I needed was someone to wipe away a single line, and I’d be free from this damn trap.
“Demon,” Devin spat as he descended the stairs, running a hand through his slightly graying hair. Devin wasn’t a particularly tall man, but his presence demanded attention.
I tried to push myself up from the floor, but my muscles spasmed and shook under my weight. He didn’t seem to notice the blood dripping down my neck from my latest attempt to free myself. Or…he didn’t care. My bet was on the latter.
“Fragile bag of flesh and bones,” I retorted, casting his disdain back at him.
The audible sigh made it clear he wasn’t in the mood, as he strode toward the shelves on the opposite wall housing the numerous magical objects he must have purchased on the black market. Men like Devin were never satisfied. They always needed more. More power, more money, more everything.
Devin pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the candle beside him.
The flame flickered, casting a shadow over the tattered spines of the books.
Devin slid a manicured finger over the books, and my heart dropped when his finger hovered over one in particular.
I’d spent countless decades hunting down that particular spellbook.
Looking for the spell to free myself from this collar, only to find myself trapped again.
Fucking pathetic.
My search had brought me back to Twisted Spires, a place I had no intention of ever returning to.
It had also brought me to Devin Whitethorn, a man with a fetish for ancient artifacts and young women, based on the sounds I’d heard come from the house on occasion.
He must pay the girls extra to make those kinds of noises because I knew his old, crusty ass wasn’t making anyone scream from pleasure.
Possibly pain but definitely not pleasure.
But at least he was fucking something with a pulse; all I had these days was my hand to keep me company.
I schooled my expression into indifference, not wanting to give away my growing dread as he plucked the familiar spellbook from the shelf. Death would come for us all, but to invite it willingly was just plain stupid. Nothing good could be found in that book.
A sulfur tang filled the air as flames erupted, spreading across the room. A wall of heat licked at the exposed skin of my arms. Sweat spilled from every pore as smoke filled my lungs, heavy and choking, each breath harder to take then the last.
Devin didn’t need to look in my direction, but I knew the flames answered to him. He was a fucking pyromaniac—or more accurately, a fire manipulator. Fire bent and formed to his will.
One moment, the flames singed my arms, and the next, they were gone. All the heat from the room vanished with it.
Devin sauntered over. A sadistic smirk on his thin lips. “Learn some manners. It’s rude to stare.”
“Find what you were looking for, mortal?” I said between coughs. My lungs were desperate to fill with the oxygen the fire had used to fuel itself.
He stopped just far enough from the trap’s edge. “Don’t worry. We all have our part to play.”
“Care to share with the class?” I pressed, hoping to rile him up. Humans were slaves to their emotions. They gave in to lust, greed, anger, and jealousy all too easily. It made them weak. Easy to manipulate.
“Watch that tongue of yours, or I’ll rip it out.”
I let out a low hiss, flicking my forked tongue in his direction, daring him to act on the threat. But he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he turned, ascending the stairs and taking the one thing I needed with him.
The spellbook of the witch who had placed this fucking collar around my neck.