“I’m sorry.”
Those were the first words out of Lukas’s mouth when Aidan was thrown back into the cell, the door slammed and locked behind him. Another candle burned in the center of the room, a mockery of the inferno Aidan had just endured.
Aidan didn’t answer.
He collapsed on his bed and curled in on himself. Squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the sights and scents of his burning comrades. Tried to find some spark of hope against the suffocating darkness, to block out the pain that coursed through his body and the dread of what would continue to happen.
He’d spared Kianna’s life and subjected her to more torture. All he’d done was buy the Church more time to hurt them. He would never get out. He would never get Fire back. He would never be avenged. Never remembered.
Everything—every death, every day—had been for nothing.
Despite himself, he began to cry. Again. And the amount he hated himself for it just made him cry harder.
He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t muffle the ugly sobs. Not even when Lukas sat once more at his side, hand light on his broken body.
To his credit, Lukas didn’t tell him it would all be okay. That he’d find a way out of it. Lukas didn’t lie, and in some small way, Aidan was grateful for the lack of comfort. It was easier than getting his hopes up. Lukas just sat there, silently, gently touching Aidan’s shoulder, while Aidan broke apart.
He hurt. Every inch of him hurt. His body. His heart. His soul.
What hurt most, though, was the small shred of relief he felt inside.
Relief that it hadn’t been him on the pyre. Relief that he was still alive. Breathing. Even if only for a little bit longer.
Even though every inch of him screamed in agony, at least he was able to feel that pain.
That relief, that sheer betrayal of his body, hurt worst of all.
Aidan was dragged in for torture a second time that day. Or third, if you counted the pyre. Which he did.
And this time, he wasn’t there alone.
Kianna was already bound to a chair when he was brought in. She stared straight ahead, in her tattered pink T-shirt and bloodstained black denim. Same room as before—same dripping candles, same bare walls, same instruments coated with his blood. Beside Kianna was a second table, covered with clean instruments for her own interrogation. The stark silver made him wince.
Aidan halted in the doorway at the sight of her. At the thought of being tortured and questioned side by side. At the thought of the secrets they might spill about each other. His hesitation made a guard punch him in the gut. He was lifted like a sack of potatoes and thrown into the empty chair. Aidan blacked out from the pain, just for a moment, and when he came to he was strapped down and facing her.
Great. Front row seats to each other’s misery.
She stared at him with the same hard, unreadable expression she had at the pyre.
She didn’t say a word.
Neither did he.
“Ah, here we are,” Jeremiah said, closing the door behind him. “Old friends reunited at last. I have often wondered how deep your relationship goes. Today, it seems, I was right in believing it ran deeper than you let on. Perhaps we should find out just how deep your bond goes, and how we might use that to bring you both to salvation.”
Aidan didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know if anything he said would make it worse for her. Or him.
“Are you asking if we fucked?” Kianna asked. Her words were flat, humorless. “Because I sure as hell don’t know him biblically.”
There was a crack and spray of blood as Jeremiah smacked her across the jaw with a baton.
“I heard you had a tongue.” He paced around Kianna, eyeing her up and down. “Perhaps it is time for you to lose it.”
“The ladies won’t like that,” she replied. Still humorless. Still unaffected by fear. “Or the lads.” She peered past Jeremiah to look at Aidan. “Am I right? I’ve heard your tongue is legendary in the Guild. I know the boys like it when you—”
“Silence!” Jeremiah yelled. He hit her again with the baton, this time so loud Aidan was certain her jaw had dislocated.
Her head jerked to the side. But she didn’t wince or cry out like Aidan would have done. She just gathered her saliva and spit blood on the floor.
“We are not here to discuss your perversions,” Jeremiah said, his voice tight. “We are here to discuss your salvation.”
“Good,” Kianna said. She righted her head, stared Jeremiah down. “Because I don’t think you have time to discuss the first.”
Jeremiah thrust the baton into her gut, making her cough. Then he used his baton to stroke her unmarked forearm. Unmarked, save for the welts from her bloodletting.
“Such a unique specimen,” he said, as though Kianna wasn’t gasping for breath in front of him. “No magic to speak of, yet you willingly surround yourself with the damned.”
“Sex with sinners is better,” Kianna said dully. “Usually.”
“Kianna,” Aidan hissed. He didn’t want to see her beaten again.
To his surprise, Jeremiah only shook his head.
“How have you survived so long outside the walls?” he asked, his voice low and musing. “Without magic or the Lord’s grace, how have you managed to avoid death?”
“Death doesn’t want me.”
“We shall see.”
Jeremiah looked back at Aidan. His smile made Aidan’s skin go cold. Colder.
“I see why you picked this one,” Jeremiah said. “I don’t believe even the fire could have saved her. She will take work to break, this enigma. But that is why I have brought you.”
He set down the baton and moved away from Kianna. Stepped closer to Aidan.
“Leave him out of this,” Kianna said. And for the first time, Aidan noted a hint of desperation in her voice. Things clicked. She had been trying to incite Jeremiah to pick on her and only her. Because she knew she could take the torture. Aidan didn’t know if he felt proud of her or angry that she felt the need to save him like that. He just knew he hated that it was true. “He has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, I think he has everything to do with this,” Jeremiah said. He picked up a pair of pliers from the table beside Aidan, examining them in the flickering firelight.
“A magic-less Hunter and a speaker for the Dark Lady. What a fortuitous pair to fall into my hands.”
“The hell you talking about?” Kianna asked.
“Hasn’t he told you?” Jeremiah asked. He set down the pliers. Picked up the awl. Examined it with the same loving intensity. “Or has your dear friend kept that a secret from you, as well?”
Aidan grunted and shifted in his chair. Beyond Jeremiah, Kianna stared daggers at him.
“What is he talking about, Aidan?”
“Oh, this is good,” Jeremiah said. He looked from the awl to Aidan. “Secrets don’t make friends, and it seems you both have many to share. How fortuitous indeed.” He looked between the two of them. “We are about to learn so much more about each other, aren’t we?”
Jeremiah put down the awl. And picked up a pair of garden shears. They were clean. They were new.
Aidan blanched.
Jeremiah stepped over to his left side. Just out of eyesight.
“Our friend, it seems, has been hearing the words of the greatest evil our world has ever known,” Jeremiah said. “And not just hearing them. But acting upon them.”
“He’s lying,” Aidan said.
Kianna’s eyes narrowed. She knew when he was lying. At least she had the foresight not to call him on his shit.
“The light will reveal all,” Jeremiah said. “Now, girl. You will tell me how you have survived so long without magic’s touch. Could you perhaps be a different servant to the Dark Lady? A new kind of Howl?”
“Go to hell,” Kianna said.
“I don’t believe I will.” His hand clamped down over Aidan’s, grabbed Aidan’s pinky. The other brought the shears to the first joint of Aidan’s fingertip. “But I cannot say the same for either of you. Your sins run deep. Sins and secrets...”
Aidan struggled. Jerked against his chair.
“No, no please!”
“Speak, girl.”
Kianna was silent.
“Please! No!” Aidan screamed.
Kianna stayed silent.
The next sound was the pop of shears slicing through his knuckle.