“You are a diamond of the first water, Miss Evernight.”
And you are a disgusting coward. I’d like nothing better than to ram my screwdriver into your eye.
“You made two of them?” he asked, grinning wide.
Because the coward wouldn’t attempt to use it on himself before trying it out on another. Which was a pity, since she’d hoped he’d take a chance on this one and replace his own heart with it. Despite this, her curiosity compelled her to ask, “If you are healed, then why bother with these hearts?”
Gently, he fingered the curve of the heart. “So that I may never be vulnerable again.”
Holly would be quite satisfied to watch him die. “This is the first. The second should take a day.”
He frowned slightly, his eyes gleaming silver-white for an instant. But then he waved an idle hand. “Very well.” He set the heart down and clapped his hands, the sound booming unnaturally loud.
A hunched figure walked in, pushing a screeching trolley before him. She ignored him in favor of the man strapped to the top. The large male, dressed only in trousers, thrashed against the golden bands that held him down. White hair fell in tangles around a sharp face, and dark-blond brows arched over eyes that flickered from ice to coal. He was beautiful. And completely helpless. A demon, if gold could hold him fast. Sanguis, if the needle-sharp fangs dropping down over the gag around his mouth were to be believed. Bloodsucker. Beautiful, but vile.
But when Master stroked the demon’s cheek with the loving care she’d just shown her inventions, as if he too were looking at a creation, nausea rolled up Holly’s throat, and she swallowed hard. She knew that look, and what would come of it.
“Mr. Thorne here has been telling tales to those who should not hear them.”
Thorne bucked, and the gold bands cut into his lean torso. Dark rivulets of blood ran over his dusky, ivory skin. He snarled against his gag, the corners of his mouth turning white.
Walking over to a worktable set off to the side of the room, Master picked up a long, ivory-handled bone saw.
Thorne grew unnaturally still, his now-black eyes tracking the movement.
Slowly, and with great theatricality, the sick winged bastard let the steel blade catch the light as he turned toward Thorne, whose chest begin to lift and fall in rapid motion. Thorne’s gaze clashed with hers, and his eyes widened, a desperate plea shimmering in them. Her insides pitched. She couldn’t look away. Nor could she save him.
God. God. God.
“Shall we try our newest creation?” Master asked softly.
Holly jerked to her feet, the chains about her wrists and ankles clattering. “Stop! We haven’t chloroform.” She couldn’t stop the surgery, but she could ease the poor man’s pain.
Master simply grinned. “Not to worry, it will not affect the procedure.”
Holly swayed. A cold sweat broke out over her clammy skin. Master reached the table, and Thorne went wild, bucking so hard that the trolley rocked.
“Come now, Mr. Thorne,” said Master. “I am giving you a gift. Blood such as you’ve never tasted, a bit of my power.” For their benevolent Master had imbued each of his crawlers with the ability to dissipate into shadow at will. That none of them survived long enough to truly appreciate it wasn’t his concern. “Should you survive, you will possess a body stronger than you could imagine.”
Thorne was unimpressed and continued to fight his bonds.
“Ingrate,” snarled Master, and while the silent guard held Thorne steady, another took a metal tube attached to a funnel and shoved it into the corner of Throne’s mouth. Jack Talent’s blood emptied out of the glass vial and went down Thorne’s resisting throat.
Master wasted no more time. He made the first cut. Thorne’s shout broke around his gag.
Holly bolted, her mind blank and her blood ice-cold. The chains held her back, and she crashed to the ground. Above her Thorne thrashed, his raw bellows echoing in the stone chamber.
Sobbing, Holly curled into a ball and tried to block out the sound. But Master glanced back at her, and a vicious gleam lit his eyes. “Get her up here,” he snarled to the guard. And then he grinned once more. “Come, Miss Evernight, and see your creation be born.”
Struggling was useless, and too soon she had a personal view of the carnage. She gave a great dry heave but her stomach was empty. Thorne’s agonized gaze lit on her, and a murderous rage burned bright there before Master carved deeper into him; then he was screaming, the veins on his neck standing out as he threw his head back. The guard held her there as Master did his gruesome work. And the scent of terror and hopelessness filled the cell.