While it was no surprise to get confirmation that Sam had been working for the dark fae when he’d attacked her, she had to ask, “What do you mean, Sam tagged me?”
His gaze flicked down to her stomach.
Lina gasped and touched her fingers to the spot where Sam had stabbed her.
“What did you do?” she whispered.
Belpheg shrugged. “A simple tracking device. Kept me apprised of your location.”
Despite her desire to keep a poker face, she couldn’t help when her mouth dropped open. He’d had a tracking device implanted inside her body? That should have been impossible. Her body should have rejected any foreign matter during the healing process.
The fact that it didn’t spoke to the true extent of the dark fae’s power.
She cautiously edged forward on the bed, swallowing when another burst of nausea struck her. “Why do you want Ronin and his brothers so badly? What have they done to you?”
“Oh no, dear, you misunderstand. It’s not what they’d done to me, but rather what they can do.”
When she shot him a puzzled look, he clarified.
“The four of them were bred for strength. For power. That inbred vitality will help to center my own.”
Sudden understanding twisted her stomach into a vicious knot. “You want to steal their abilities?”
“Not just their abilities.” He grinned. “I’m afraid I need all of their life essence.”
“You sick fuck!” She instinctively tried to shove off the bed again, but made it no more than a few inches before an invisible vice closed around her throat, slowly cutting off her oxygen. Her fingers lifted to her throat, but there was nothing she could do to stop the increasing pressure.
“You’ve miscalculated your hand,” she managed to choke out. “Ronin doesn’t care enough to risk his real brothers.”
Even as she said it, she recognized it for the lie it was. Ronin’s problem had never been not caring enough.
“We’ll see,” Belpheg said coldly as he rose from his chair.
When he moved to tower over her, she couldn’t fight the fear that crawled along her skin.
“He might not want to risk his brothers, but I daresay he won’t be able to fight that foolish noble streak of his. Nevertheless, since it would behoove me to increase the odds of our success…”
Before she could question his words, he reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew something from a hidden pocket. Another syringe.
No, gods no.
“Please,” she begged, hating herself for her weakness. “Don’t.”
He paused in the act of bending forward and met her gaze. “Believe me dear, the drugs are for your benefit. I’m afraid that in order to prepare you, I’ll need to conduct a bit of minor surgery.”
Her eyes shot open. “Wait, wha—”
Belpheg jammed the syringe in her side and released the contents into her body. She tried to fight, to scream, but the drug released into her system far too quickly. As her body responded to it, the pressure eased from her throat. She swallowed once and tried to meet the dark fae’s gaze, but her vision blurred.
Oh hell, not again.
A soft breath escaped her lungs as she spiraled quickly out of consciousness.
…
Where the hell could she be?
Dagan checked the time on his phone and paced his bedroom for what seemed like the millionth time in the past several hours. It had been over a day since they’d last seen Lina. Over a day, and not a word from her. Last night, he and Ronin had split up, checking all the places they thought she might frequent, but no one had seen or heard from her, and she hadn’t gone back to her apartment.
Something’s wrong.
Fear knotted itself into a ball in his stomach. His head filled with the strains of a furious aria reminiscent of The Omen.
Yeah, Lina had clearly been pissed at them yesterday, but they’d both called her countless times since then. Surely she would have figured out something was wrong and at least listened to one of their messages. And then she would have known…
They were about to flee. About to become the very thing they hunted: fugitives.
How could it have come to this?
Despite all the pent-up anger he felt for Ronin, he also sympathized with his older brother. He knew Ronin felt responsible for what was happening, and he probably would too if the tables had been turned. But the bottom line was that it wasn’t his fault. No, the blame lay squarely with the Council.
How could they, even for one second, believe that he or any of his brothers would aid their sadistic father in his escape? Although the Council members liked to pretend otherwise, they knew the extent of the torture Mammon had inflicted on him and his brothers growing up. They knew how much hatred he and his brothers had for their evil father.