Eddie held back her tears as the door shut behind Ashe and Calix. They’d come to drain her powers again, and they’d left her wrung out and sick. She wanted to puke but couldn’t even find the energy to turn her head.

Shade told her he was coming to find her, but night after night she left her dream to wake up in this metal box again.

She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. The locks clicked into place on the door. First the one near the bottom, one close to the center, and then the bolt slid into place. Being in this silent, sterile space had honed her hearing. She waited for the deep pitched clank of the final lock.

They’d left the water bottle in her hand, and Eddie raised it to her mouth and took a careful sip. Any faster, and she would throw it up again. Ask her how she knew that. Sitting in her damp, vomit-stained sweatshirt until they brought her food and she could demand a change of clothing provided enough incentive to control her raging thirst and drink slowly.

She didn’t know what time they brought her meals, but her body had grown accustomed, and her belly would remind her before Ashe appeared with her next meal. She only ever saw Ashe, Calix, and Casper. More often Ashe. Maybe she had early Stockholm syndrome because she was even starting to look forward to her chats with Ashe. Sometimes he stayed while she finished her meal. It was probably more a relief from the terrifying monotony of her days as she waited for them to come and drain her powers.

Something whispered at the back of her mind. A thing that was not the same as the endless sameness since she’d been here.

And she’d read that Stockholm syndrome wasn’t even a thing. Not a syndrome so much as an emotional response of a captive to a capturer. She risked another small sip of water. As the water eased into her stomach, she catalogued her pain. She passed the hours after they’d drained her power by watching her pain recede. Initially, it felt like her entire body had been run over by a truck. Then the feeling receded first from her extremities and then traveled to her larger muscle groups. The pounding in her head was always the last to release its grip on her.

They didn’t use the gas anymore before they came to drain her. She would like to believe it was a kindness, but deep down she knew it was because she was losing the will to keep fighting, and each time they drained her, they left her weaker than before.

That wrong thing pinged through her mind again. She stared at the solid metal walls, the sink and plain faucet, the toilet. Everything was much as it had been. Not a speck of dust marred the shining surfaces. The faucet didn’t drip.

And yet, still, there was something. Something different. Something amiss. Something missing.

The agony had receded enough that she could roll her ankles and wrists. Easing to her side, she replayed the last encounter.

Ashe had come in first. Her relief at seeing him had quickly been displaced by dread as Calix followed behind him. Then came the pendant that they placed over her head. The moment the crystal made contact with her, the pain started.

Calix’s eyes gleamed as he watched her power drain into the amulet. At first, she’d tried not to scream, but she didn’t even have the energy for that anymore. The louder she screamed, the more Calix seemed to enjoy it.

She dared not look at Ashe. If she saw signs that he enjoyed it, her one relief from this place would be tainted.

Once it was done, Calix lifted the pendant from around her neck and tucked it inside the leather pouch. He’d leave then.

As he often did, Ashe stayed for a while. Like before, he’d bent down and uncapped the water bottle. He’d lightly squeezed her fingers as he’d place it in her clasp.

Then he’d left, and she’d done as she always did and counted the locks.

The locks! The fucking locks!

She’d heard three clicks but not four. What did that mean?

Nothing.

There were still three locks between her and freedom. Three locks keeping her confined in this miserable place. Each time they drained her, it hurt more, and it took her longer to recover. The time was approaching when she would no longer be able to recover and then what? She lay on her side, willing her body to recover, unable to move yet and stared at the door.

The fourth lock hadn’t turned. That had to mean something, because it was all she had.

Chapter Sixteen

Wrath woke with his heart beating like a war drum and blood surging through his veins. Rage pounded inside his chest, and he wanted to tear the world asunder. Blood surged to his muscles, and his wings ached for release.

Shit! His seal was weakening again, and he could feel the effects even in Ava’s demesne.

Breathing deep, he wrestled it under control and stepped through the double doors to the balcony attached to his chamber.

Dawn was still hours away, and the need to act scratched at him. Fury prowled beneath his skin like a hungry predator demanding he let it out to hunt and gorge itself. His Eddie needed him, yet he waited here for Ava to stop playing her capricious games with him and for Haziel to sober up and join him. He could do as Haziel asked and leave her here. The moment the idea popped into his head, he ripped it aside. Haziel had come here with him, and she would leave with him.

It was because he didn’t feel like the shitshow if he arrived on earth without her. Sure, let him continue to believe that was the reason. It beat the alternative, which was the primal insistence within him that they were now connected.

And that was pathetically stupid. Haziel was a seraph, not merely part of Ramiel’s host, but his second. Seconds were vital and chosen for their strength. If there ever came a time when an archangel or hell prince wanted to pass on from this existence, they could transfer their power to their second. It had to be done willingly and didn’t happen automatically on the death of the higher being, but it was an out for beings who might grow weary with their endless existences. There was no way she was now, nor could ever be, his. Still, her tawny skin beneath that floaty bit of nothing she’d been wearing last night rose in his mind—much as it had for most of the night. Haziel was beautiful and so very tempting. And she was far from immune to him. It all provided too much temptation.

Wrath pounded his fist on the balcony and got grim satisfaction when the wrought iron bent beneath his blow.

With his seal weakening again, the need to act became imperative. His emotions were skewing inside him and driving him to violence. The only way to control his urges was through action.

A fresh wave of fury washed over him, and Wrath threw back his head and bellowed.

He needed to act now. Making short work of getting dressed, he kicked open his door and charged into the corridor.

“Ava!” His voice reverberated off the domed ceiling. “Ava! Where the fuck are you?”

Wings beat the air, and there she was. Her eyes glittered with obsidian fury as she closed on him. “Wrath! You dare disturb the peace of my palace.”

The air charged with menace as they faced each other.

“Leave,” Ava hissed.

Wrath released his wings. “Not without Haziel.”

“Angel.” Covet stood by her bed and stared at her.

She blinked at the predawn view outside the window. “No cocktail, thank you. Not now.”

“No, angel.” His fork tongue shot out and he licked his lips. “You must come and stop them.”

“Stop—”

A massive shout resounded through the palace, and then the sound of big things shattering.

“The hell princes.” Covet’s gaze shot toward her door. “They are fighting, and they will tear the palace down if they don’t stop.”

More crashing and thudding, and it felt like the entire building shook. “Which hell princes?” She stumbled out of bed and hunted for a robe. “Is Lucifer here?”

“No, angel.” Covet held her pale yellow robe out to her. “He is not here. It is the mistress and Wrath.”

Haziel stared at him, aware that her mouth had popped open, and she was gaping. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, mistress.” Covet shook her robe to hurry her along. “The seals are weakening, and their tempers have flared. You need to control them.”