It was almost cute that he truly believed that. But why warn him that he was wrong? It would be better to allow him to think that he was on top of the situation.
He cast a quick glance at his collection of knives. “It’s a real shame that I can’t use them on you. My client paid me extra to ensure you were delivered in one piece. They wouldn’t grant me so much as a pinkie finger, which is disappointing. Powdered hellcat bone sells for good money on the black market. I can personally attest to the fact that it does indeed power spells.”
Well, she’d already known that. Her deceased godmother was an incantor, and she’d told Devon plenty about magick.
Stretching his legs out in front of him, he cocked his head. “You’re a cool one, sitting there calmly, looking me right in the eye … as if you’re not tied to a chair and completely at my mercy.”
At his mercy? Oh, good Lord, he was just adorable.
“Before you try telling me you’ll escape and kill me—they all vow that—let me just say that I’ve done my research on you. Even if my spell wasn’t preventing you from accessing your abilities, you wouldn’t have been able to call out to your lair members or friends for help—your telepathic range is short.”
True, sadly. Devon didn’t doubt that her godmother could have untangled the spell effortlessly, since she’d possessed more magick than any incantor Devon had ever met. Millicent was so strong, in fact, she’d imprinted protective wards on Devon’s very bones. The wards didn’t make her immune to magick, but they did ensure that any spells placed on Devon would wear off fast. Which was undoubtedly why the energy ropes had begun to weaken—the buzz of power was no longer so strong against her skin.
Luckily, Psycho Stanley didn’t seem to be aware of that. And she’d need to keep him distracted so that he was less likely to notice. “Well, are you going to tell me what delightful person hired you?” she asked, her voice croaky with thirst.
“I’ve no idea who it was.” And he didn’t sound as though he cared. “The deal was done through a broker.”
“Surely you at least know what they want with me.”
“Something about offering your father an exchange—if he freed their friend, Asa, they’d free you.” He shrugged, uninterested. “I suppose this is where you get to find out just how much Daddy loves you.”
Well, considering she’d never heard of an Asa and that the guy she thought of as her dad wouldn’t have the authority to free anybody, this mess had to be related to her biological father, Finn. He was the Prime of a lair in Salt Lake City, and she didn’t have regular contact with him. As such, the person who’d arranged all this would have had better luck if they’d kidnapped one of Finn’s other offspring. It honestly wouldn’t surprise her if Finn refused to make the trade. Which meant she was fucked if she didn’t get out of this cabin fast.
The incantor’s eyes narrowed. “Harper Thorne used to belong to your lair. You’ve been close friends with her since you were kids, from what I uncovered. Girls share just about everything with their BFFs, don’t they? I’ll just bet she told you what breed of demon her mate is.”
Well, he’d lose that bet. Devon had once asked Harper what Knox was, and the female sphinx had responded, “You’re better off not knowing, Dev, and it’s not something I can share anyway.”
By her own admission, Devon was annoyingly curious—it was a hellcat thing—and would badger people for answers. But she also knew when it was best not to push, so she’d let it go.
“What is he?”
Devon arched an imperious brow. “And what incentive do I have to tell you that? You’ve got nothing to offer me except for my freedom, which we both know you won’t give me. You can’t even tell me who hired you.”
His eyes bored into her, empty and cold. “Why would I offer you an incentive when I could torture the information out of you?”
“You’ve been instructed to keep me alive and unharmed, remember.”
“I can put you through a world of hurt without leaving a single mark on you.”
Hmm, was that so? Well, she could return the favor if these damn binds would just fuck right off. He might have done his research on Devon but, like many demons, she deliberately kept some of her abilities quiet. He had no way of knowing that he had, to put it simply, completely fucked up. All she needed was—
She shot forward in her chair as white-hot agony crashed into her gut, twisting it so painfully that stars burst behind her eyes. Holy fuck it felt like someone was taking a blowtorch to her stomach. The scorching heat sizzled its way up her chest, settled in her breastbone and, honest to God, she thought it would melt from the heat or at least crack from the pressure.
She looked down, half-expecting to see her skin blistering and peeling away from her body. There was absolutely no outward sign of the fire that blazed in her—
It stopped.
She sagged in her chair, panting and shaking.
“I think I’ve made my point,” he said. “Now, tell me what I want to know.”
She blinked, licking her dry lips. “What was the question again?”
Devon hissed as the pain returned. Not like a blowtorch this time. No, now it felt more like a jagged, red-hot knife was carving its way up the column of her throat, and she was genuinely surprised she didn’t smell blood. It felt as if the blade sliced through her skin as it traveled over her chin, along her face, and toward her eye.
Nostrils flaring, she jerked her head back, but there was no way of avoiding the—
It stopped again.
Devon shuddered out a breath. God, it was going to be so satisfying to watch this bastard die. So very, very satisfying. The fuck of it was that although the buzzing against her wrists and ankles had faded a little more, it wasn’t enough for her to break free. It was, however, enough for her to release a little of her own power.
Slowly and cautiously, she sent out a vine-like tendril of dark power. He couldn’t see it, of course. But, as its wielder, she could. The hazy vapor slinked its way across the ground like a snake, heading right for him.
At her command, the vapor came to a stop near his foot. It coiled, tensed, ready and raring to pounce. She might have released her hold on it right then if he wasn’t a strong incantor. He could easily combat a tendril of such power—sadly. She just had to hope that whoever was coming to collect her didn’t arrive before the energy rope faded and she could release the rest of the dark force that writhed in her belly.
For the first time, she wished her anchor bond was emotionally invasive. To have her mind so strongly linked to someone else’s yet be unable to reach out to them … Fuck if that wasn’t shitter than shit at the moment.
All demons had a predestined psychic mate who anchored them, preventing them from turning rogue—something they were all at risk of doing, considering how much of a struggle it could be to maintain dominance over the cruel entity that lived within them. There was nothing sexual or emotional about the bond. It was only a psychic construct, but demons still struggled to be apart from their anchors for long periods of time.
Devon was incredibly close to her anchor—so close, in fact, that Adam and his partner, Hunter, had switched to her lair six years ago. Both guys were uber protective of her, and they’d lose their shit if they could see her right now.