Chapter 33 · Prisoner or Sacrifice

"Stop fighting it, Silas. It's embarrassing."

Viviane’s voice. But the tone was all wrong. It was Julian. He was using her throat, her lips, her breath—and he sounded like he was enjoying every second of it.

Her hand tightened around my windpipe, pinning me against the cold stone wall. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't even curse. My boots scraped the floor, searching for leverage, but he had me locked down tight.

"Look at her eyes," Julian purred through her mouth. "Still fighting. Still screaming inside. Pathetic, isn't it? All that High Inquisitor pride, reduced to a meat-puppet for my amusement."

I managed a guttural rasp. "Go... to hell."

"Been there, darling. Dreadfully dull." Julian shifted his grip, sliding from my throat to my jaw. He squeezed hard. My teeth ached.

"But this? This is art. The man who thinks he loves the hunter, watching the hunter become the leash."

From the shadows, Kaelen chuckled. He was leaning against a rusted torture rack, tossing an obsidian coin. "Told you he'd snap, Cardinal. Emotional attachment is such a messy variable."

"Messy, yes. But useful."

Julian forced Viviane to lean in. Her face was inches from mine. I could smell her—sandalwood and old parchment—