I slam into a wall, ribs cracking on impact
That’s it. I am going to kill the bastard.
I sit up slowly, gauging the shallowness of my breath and the ache in my ribs.
The collar—the fucking collar—is slowing my healing. I can feel it.
Great.
I am definitely going to kill him.
Chapter 36
Cage
THAT’S IT. I AM GOING to kill this bitch.
I fantasized about it the entire time I rubbed her feet. I could make it slow and peel back every layer of skin until only bone remained.
Or quick. I could snap her neck like a twig, but where’s the fun in that?
I sat quietly, listening as they spoke, watching to see if Millicent couldactuallyextract any useful information. Fights are loud and messy—the opposite of what Felix commands. It’s easier to fake my compulsion and wait for the perfect moment to strike.
Arella was telling the truth, that much I knew. I was in her head as well as in everyone else’s in the room.
What did Millicent not know? That Arella had Kalix. Which is very, very bad for everyone involved.
I discard the trash against the wall. I hope her ribs cracked in the process; maybe she’ll stay down this time so I can focus on Arella.
The moment she asks how I’m free is the last thing she says.
Power pulses through me. With the beat of my heart, rings ripple outward, sharp and fast. At lightning speed, they slice clean through the torsos. Some take heads. Bodies fall over, impacts are echoed by wet thumps of blood pooling on the floor.
I run a hand through my hair smoothing back a few wild strands before I turn my attention back to my pet.
Her hand drops from her ribs, trying to hide the pain.
Too late. I prowl toward her, locked in on my injured prey.
“Up,” I command.
She exhales a sharp, reluctant huff. It almost makes me smile. Almost. Her body’s fighting her as she tries to push herself off the floor but falters. One or more of her ribs must be broken and the collar’s keeping her from healing.
“Aw, poor baby,” I coo, letting a sly grin curl my lips.
I extend my hand. A black tendril slithers from beneath my sleeve, down my palm, and stretches toward her collar.
It latches on.
In seconds, it solidifies—black leather, coiled into a leash. I wrap the end around my hand and give it a tug.
She’s yanked to her feet, stumbling to keep up. I make sure to give her no choice on the matter.
“The moment I have this thing off,” she snarls, “or the second I get my hands on a weapon, I’m starting with your heart. I’ll carve it out and devour it in front of you.
“No—better yet, I’ll start with your fingers. I’ll make you eat them.”
I don’t respond, but she continues anyway. Detailing all her plans to mutilate or consume me.
