If this wasn’t an illusion or a memory…
“What in the seven hells is going on?” The unmistakable sound of a boot scraping over stone had my pulse pounding as a strong pang of fear shot through me. “Wrath?”
Somewhere close by, a match was struck, the hiss preceding the scent of sulfur as it wafted over. A small flame flickered on the far side of the room, though whoever had lit the candle was magically gone. I shook my chains again, yanking as hard as I could, but they didn’t give an inch. Unless I ripped my hands off, I wasn’t escaping until my abductor set me free.
To stave off rising panic, I squinted through the semidarkness, trying to find some clue of my location or my captor. It was a stone chamber, and I was chained in an alcove of sorts.
In the center of the main room sat an altar carved from the pale stone that made up the walls and floor. Straw and dried herbs littered the ground. It almost reminded me of the monastery back home where my friend Claudia worked on the dead, but not quite.
Thinking of those chambers brought on memories of the invisible mercenary spies who once haunted me there. It felt like forever since I’d encountered an Umbra demon, and I fought a shudder. If I never saw one of those ghastly demons again, I would have lived a good, happy life.
“Whoever’s there, show yourself.”
I rattled my chains. The echo of metal clanking was the only response I received, though I swore I heard the faint sound of someone breathing nearby. I didn’t see any puffs of breath, but I knew that didn’t mean I was alone. Wrath would never play this kind of trick on me, especially given what we’d been about to do, which ruled this out as any twisted demon foreplay.
I mustered false bravado. “Even chained you’re afraid of speaking with me?”
“Not scared,” a deep, accented voice said from the darkness.
My breath caught. I’d heard his voice before but couldn’t place where. It wasn’t Anir—Wrath’s human second-in-command. Nor did it sound like any of the demon prince’s brothers. This accent was from my island in the mortal realm. I was certain of that.
“If you’re not scared, then you have no reason to hide from me.”
“I’m awaiting further orders.”
“From whom?” Silence uncomfortably stretched between us. It was hard to feign authority while nude, chained, and speaking to a phantom kidnapper, but I tried anyway. “Whoever your master is will likely be here soon enough. There’s no need for secrecy.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
A phrase every murderer and criminal probably uttered to their victims right before they slit their throats, too. I swallowed hard. I needed him to keep talking to figure out who he was, and I’d found that annoying someone made them react, even if they didn’t want to. Wrath and I had used that same tactic on each other over the last few months, and I could kiss him now for the practice.
“Did your master order you to remain in the shadows?”
“No.”
“Hmm. I see.”
“What?”
“You’re simply a pervert who enjoys watching your victims, knowing they can’t see you in return. Tell me, are you touching yourself now? Imagining what my skin feels like while stroking your own? Why don’t you come closer?” And allow me to knee your groin into your lungs. The man materialized in front of me with a look of pure aggravation on his face. Definitely not a demon, but that wasn’t comforting. I drew in a sharp breath. “Domenico Nucci.”
The young man who sold arancini with his family in Palermo stared at me with vehemence. Deadly looking claws shot out of his fingertips, then retracted, reminding me that he was no more human than I was. I’d almost forgotten that the man I’d thought my twin had been secretly courting was a shape-shifter. Werewolf, to be exact. Temperamental creatures at best, and based on what I remember his father telling me, I’d just provoked a newly shifted one. I had no idea how much control he had over his wolf, but I’d wager not much.
Domenico’s eyes—normally warm brown—glowed an unearthly pale purple as they narrowed on me, confirming my suspicion. He was close to shifting.
I held my breath, waiting for him to deliver a death blow. He seemed on the verge of stepping closer, his jaw clenched from restraint as anger radiated off him like a furious sun. The wolf took several deep breaths, then rolled his shoulders, breaking the mounting tension. With a wave of his half-clawed hand, a few of the shadows broke away from the frenzy and re-formed around me, creating a dressing gown of sorts.
“Where are we?” I asked, ignoring the strangeness of my robe as it settled over my skin. And the fact that the werewolf had magicked it without so much as a whispered spell.
“The Shadow Realm.”
I quietly absorbed the information. Growing up, Nonna Maria taught us about shape-shifters, along with a few other magical creatures. According to my grandmother’s stories, the wolves fought supernatural wars between themselves and demons in the spirit realm, which must be what he meant by Shadow Realm.
I’d always pictured the spirit realm with ghosts walking through walls, haunting and ethereal like they were depicted in gothic novels. This was very different from my imagination. Domenico was fully corporeal. And I definitely felt the weight of the icy manacles as they bit into my skin. I also felt something I hadn’t before—the slight buzz of magic in the metal. These were no ordinary shackles; they were spelled to keep my own powers locked away.
I sent a subtle prod to my magic’s source and, just as I’d suspected, hit a barrier that prevented me from summoning fire.
I had a terrible feeling I knew who his master was and did not want my magic bound for our encounter. I glanced at my captor. I’d never heard of wolves transporting anyone with them to the spirit realm, and until now, I wouldn’t have believed it possible, especially for a newly shifted werewolf. Domenico must be immensely powerful. A future alpha in the making.
“Is my physical body still in the Seven Circles?” I asked.
Domenico ran his attention over me, his eyes losing some of that shifter glow. “Yes.”
I wasn’t sure how that was possible, and the werewolf’s glare indicated he wouldn’t answer another question about it. Knowing how dangerous he would be if he fully turned into a wolf, I left well enough alone. He’d given me the important information I needed anyway.
My body was still in Wrath’s bedchamber, and the demon would undoubtedly be searching for a way to bring me back now. If I couldn’t escape on my own, I simply needed to bide my time until he came for my soul and unleashed his power. Anyone foolish enough to attack his bride-to-be in his royal House deserved to feel his namesake sin. I almost grinned, imagining the carnage he’d wreak as he meted out justice, but caught myself.
“It’s freezing here.”
“Not for me.”
I wanted to rub my hands over my arms, forcing warmth back into my nonbody, but couldn’t with the chains. Domenico watched me closely, a menacing gleam entering his eyes. One wrong move would have his jaws clamped around my throat, no matter what his orders were. He was far more volatile than the first time I’d met him, though that was probably from the shift. I’d heard young wolves sometimes took years to fully mature.