Hunt knew what was coming when the Hawk left the door to the dungeons open. Knew it would be bad when they were all dumped to the filthy ground again, Ruhn moaning at what it did to his arm.
All this, to break Hunt to Rigelus’s will. A slow sapping of Hunt’s resolve, to suffer and see these males suffer beside him, to wear him down to this point, so he’d beg them to stop, would offer up anything to make it cease, to save them—
“Get the fuck up,” the Hawk ordered from the doorway as Mordoc and several of his dreadwolves stalked into the chamber. They didn’t wait for Hunt to obey the Hawk’s command before they reached for him, the silver darts in their imperial uniforms glinting.
Hunt bared his teeth. A few of them stepped back at the expression on his face. At the presence of the Umbra Mortis, still unbroken.
Even Mordoc, with all those silver darts crusting his collar, paused, considering.
Hunt’s legs shook, his body roared in pain, but he stood. His barely formed wings twitched, trying to spread in angelic wrath. This might all be his fault, but he’d go down swinging.
“Rigelus requests an audience,” the Hawk drawled, tapping an invisible watch on his slender wrist. “Best not to keep His Holiness waiting.”
Hunt had no idea how Ruhn or Baxian managed to stand beside him. But groaning, hissing, they did. A sidelong glance to Baxian showed him the Helhound’s wings—fully formed, but still as weak as Hunt’s own—were tucked in protectively.
Hunt had little hope either of them would keep their wings today. But losing them again would be better than losing Ruhn. Would Bryce ever forgive him if he let Ruhn die? Would he ever forgive himself?
He already knew the answer.
Mordoc aimed a gun at Hunt’s head, and the other dreadwolves followed suit with Baxian and Ruhn as their chains were unanchored from the wall.
Hunt caught Ruhn’s agonized, exhausted stare. How the fuck would they even make it up the small flight of stairs to where the Hawk stood?
The prince’s voice was muffled. Like even the energy to talk mind-to-mind was too much. Or maybe that was all the gorsian stone on them.
But somehow … Ruhn seemed to know his fate. He didn’t appear inclined to fight it.
“One foot at a time, friends,” Baxian murmured as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Hunt hated the hand he had to brace on the cold stone wall to help him get up the steps. Hated his jagged breathing, the screaming in his body, the effort required to lift each foot.
But he did as Baxian said. One foot at a time.
And then the Hawk was in front of them, still sneering. Mordoc and the dreadwolves kept their guns trained as the motherfucker bowed mockingly. “This way, friends.”
Mordoc snickered, the fucker.
Hunt staggered into the hall, head spinning. The cup of thin broth and dry bread had been a pathetic excuse for a meal. Quinlan would have had some smart remark about it. He could almost hear her saying to the Hawk, Where’s my pizza, bird-boy?
Hunt laughed to himself, earning a quizzical look over the shoulder from the Hawk.
Ruhn stumbled, nearly eating stone. The dreadwolves swept in, hauling him up before he could collapse. The prince’s feet scraped and pushed feebly at the floor, trying to stand, but his body failed him.
Hunt could do nothing but watch as two dreadwolves dragged Ruhn along like a fucking duffel bag.
Maybe it would be a mercy for Ruhn to die. The thought was abhorrent, but—
“Please let us take the elevator,” Baxian muttered from behind him, and Hunt chuckled again. He might have been on the verge of hysteria.
“Shut the fuck up,” Mordoc snarled, and Baxian grunted, no doubt from a blow the dreadwolf had landed on his battered body.
Thank the gods, they were indeed herded down the hall toward the elevator bay. As if on cue, the gold-plated doors parted to reveal the Hind in her pristine uniform.
“Good morning, boys,” she purred, face cold as death as she held the door open with a slender hand. Her other arm was in a sling, heavily bandaged.
“Lidia,” the Hawk drawled, and nodded to her injured arm. “How are the burns healing up?”
Limping into the elevator beside Lidia, Hunt eyed the Hind’s sling. Had she finished playing rebel and gone back to her true self? Maybe she’d been using fire to persuade a prisoner to talk and gotten a little too enthusiastic. Ruhn’s face remained wholly blank. He was back on his feet again, slowly approaching the elevator.
“Fine.” Lidia leaned against the button panel, fire in her golden eyes. She sniffed at Baxian, then said to the Hawk, “You couldn’t wash them first?”
“Rigelus said immediately,” the Hawk said, shoving Ruhn in.
The prince hit the glass wall at the rear of the elevator and slumped to the floor with a groan. The Hawk reached to push in Baxian, but the Helhound bared his teeth, and even the Hawk didn’t try anything as the Helhound took up a place beside Hunt, limping only slightly.
How much had changed since those years with Sandriel. And how little.
“Room for two,” Lidia snapped at her dreadwolves, and a pair of stone-faced soldiers slipped in. Each had at least a dozen silver darts along the collars of their gray uniforms. Lidia ordered Mordoc, “Be waiting outside the bay upstairs.”
Mordoc nodded, golden eyes bright with anticipated bloodshed, and snarled something to the dreadwolf unit that had them marching swiftly for the stairs. With feral delight dancing over his face, Mordoc trailed them out.
Lidia waited until the dreadwolves and their captain had left the landing before removing her hand from the door. The elevator sealed shut, and the car began to slide upward.
They emerged from the underground levels, rising into the crystal palace above.
Blinding light pierced Hunt’s eyes—daylight. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, couldn’t focus—he couldn’t make out anything of the world around him. He lifted a wing to block out the light, body barking in pain with the movement. Ruhn and Baxian hissed, recoiling from the light as well.
The Hawk snickered. “Just a taste of what Rigelus will do to you.” The two dreadwolves chuckled with him.
Hunt squinted as he lowered his wing and met the shithead’s eyes. “Fuck you.” Like Hel would these assholes make him beg and grovel—either for his own life or Ruhn’s.
Lidia said mildly, “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Athalar.” Hunt looked, but not fast enough.
The Hawk certainly didn’t look fast enough.
And Hunt knew he’d treasure this moment forever: the moment when Lidia Cervos pulled out her gun and fired it right between the Hawk’s eyes.
