a's

st. The muscles in his jaw worked, and for a terrifying second

nes grind together under his grip. A strangled cry of pain escaped my lips. This wasn't the

reign and guttural. It wasn't a ca

red in the doorway. They moved with a silent, unnerving speed. One

n snarled, shoving me toward them. "T

otest. Their grips were like iron vises. They began to drag me fro

gainst them, but it was useless. It was

. The guests turned to watch, their expressions a mixture of cold curiosity

She stood perfectly poised, a champagne flute in her hand, watching

were all in on it. This was their wor

a damp, cold corridor. The air smelled of mildew and rust. At the end of the ha

omething from a medieval dungeon. I couldn't wrap my head around

the cage door, the sound of metal scraping on

d elbows cracking against the cold metal floor,

a deafening clang. The lock cli

said, his voice flat and devoid of em

ain. My voice shook.

the cellar were switched off, leaving only a single, dim wall sconce that cast long, m

ide. But the physical ache was nothing compared to the terror that was now cons

s there. Time seemed to st

I he

d. These were measured, deliberate, and powerful. Each step seemed to land with an impossible weight,

pped directly in

the slide of metal into the lock, an

nd a tall, powerful silhouette filled the do