Moonlight streamed through the windows ahead, painted in a grid across the runner. The curtains fluttered in the breeze— The curtains fluttered.
Time suddenly slowed around him. He reached for the knife up his sleeve, but the hollow retort of a dartgun firing stole his attention.
Too late.
Malloryn froze as he reached down to touch the dart embedded in his chest. A tremor of shock ran through him, slow creeping numbness stealing through his fingers. Not Black Vein, thank God.
Hemlock.
He'd been hemlocked.
"Adele!" He staggered sideways, slamming into the wall.
A shadow separated itself from all the others. Despite his well-trained staff, despite the sentries he had posted throughout the property, the enemy had somehow invaded.
But how?
The doors and windows were all equipped with special locks that would blare an alarm if someone tried to break in. The only way to do it was to have someone on the inside….
His knees went weak, feeling flooding out of his limbs first as the poison ravaged through him. A horrified sound echoed in his dry throat, but he couldn't stop himself from hitting the ground, one knee at a time, as a tall, slim woman stepped out from behind the curtains, holding her dartgun on him the entire time.
"Hello, Malloryn," Dido purred, as he lost his fight over his unresponsive body and slumped face-first to the ground. "I have an invitation from Lord Balfour. He wants you to attend an exclusive viewing. You'll have the best seats in the house for when the fireworks start."
There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could even bloody well say, as one of his servants scurried out of the shadows and rolled him onto his back.
"Where to Lady Dido?" the footman whispered.
Of all the things Malloryn had prepared for, he'd never expected himself to be the target.
Chapter 27
By the time sensation returned, it was too late.
Malloryn let his head fall back against the stone wall of the dank cell where he was chained, blood wet against his split lip. Dido didn't share Jelena's enthusiasm for pain and suffering, but she'd been methodical. He was fairly certain at least one of his ribs was broken, and his left eye threatened to swell shut.
He could feel the craving virus swarming through him in response to the injuries, but there was nothing he could do right now.
Each wrist was clamped in a steel manacle two inches thick. Both were soldered directly to the wall above his head, leaving his chest splayed wide and vulnerable.
The only thing he could hope for was that one of his household staff—or even Adele—would notice him missing, and the Rogues would track him using the beacon inserted at the base of his skull.
Once again, he was forced to rely upon others.
Keys clanked in the darkness, and then the cell door opened. Light bloomed, forcing him to look away as his vision slowly adjusted.
Balfour stepped out of the shadows, his gloved hands curled around his cane. Snowy white lashes flickered over his coal-black eyes as Balfour took a slow, considering look at him.
The instinctive curl of fury and rage knotted tight inside his gut, and Malloryn strained at his shackles.
Twice now, he'd found himself at this man's mercy.
He could only expect to escape once, and he'd already used up that life.
"And so we meet again," Balfour murmured as Dido strode into the cell with the lantern. "Sometimes I wonder if fate is determined to throw us against each other until one of us breaks."
"You've tried to break me before," he rasped, slumping his head back against cold stone. "And you didn't succeed. What makes you think you will this time?"
Balfour slowly knelt, a smile stretching over his lips as he leaned on the cane. The action brought them to eye level. "Because I am patient. And I am determined. I will find the means to destroy you, Malloryn. No matter how long I must wait, or what I must try. Do you understand? You took everything from me."
His manacles clanked as he jerked forward. "I wanted you to know what it felt like. I wanted you to suffer."
"It seems we are of like minds."
Dido set the lantern on a nearby table, where several items lay covered by a velvet cloth. Something to torture him with, no doubt.
Malloryn steeled himself. He'd survived what they'd done to him in Russia. He could survive this.
But he couldn't escape the physiological effects. His body tensed, his heart starting to race. The worst thing was knowing what was to come. Expecting it. Knowing how much pain his body could bear before he'd begin to scream for mercy. He'd begged then. He'd never thought he would, but Jelena had managed to find every little weakness he owned and exploit them.
Ever since she'd died, he'd thought himself free of this fear, but the simple clank of whatever was on the table put him right back there in Russia. Right back there in those dark, dark moments, where not even a scrap of light could reach him.
Balfour was saying something.
He fought to break free of the panic, forcing himself to breathe. One slow breath in, and one slow breath out. And again.
Until his ears were no longer ringing and he could see through the narrow tunnel he'd found himself in.
"This time, we will have our end. This time, only one of us will survive," Balfour promised.
"Then do it," Malloryn taunted. "Kill me. I know you want to."
At that, a faint smile touched Balfour's lips. "You arrogant little cur." He began stripping off his gloves, one finger at a time. "Did you think it would ever be that easy? I don't want you to be a martyr. I want you to suffer. Death is too easy. Death is a release. No. I want to make you hurt. I want to destroy each and every aspect of your life... the way you destroyed mine. I want to break you."
You already broke me.
The boy that he'd been—the arrogant youth who'd thought himself above punishment—had died a swift, merciless death as he held the bloodied form of the girl he loved in his arms and begged her to come back to him.