Whatever this magic was—
It wasunholy.
The Graver’s pointed teeth snapped at Vesper’s neck like a rabid wolf as its face split in two. Its teeth grazed his flesh, enough to draw a small trickle of warm blood, but Vesper managed to roll and buck the Graver off him in one swift motion.
His mind raced as he scrambled to his feet and searched for Nef. He glanced helplessly at the cages, but the Graver rose to its feet and launched at him once more. He darted to the side and sprinted, not sure where to go.
They had to get out, but he couldn’t leave without freeing these people.
He needed to find Nef first. She must have been dragged into the bushes somewhere. His heart thrummed as he burst through the bushes they had hid in. But he stopped dead, his blood crystalized, and his heart turned to stone.
Because his friends were all there, Thorrin, Gaelin, Demitri, Nef, and Kyrith, each restrained by a Graver holding a blade to their throat.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
EMMERY
As Emmery squinted at the entrance sign lit by a strange red glow, the demons and souls lounging against a nearby wall surveyed her like their next meal. She could hardly blame them; after all, she’d squeezed her body into this ridiculous getup and would now offer herself up like some glazed ham at a royal feast.
“What does it say?” she whispered to Dez beside her. The tightness in her chest echoed in her voice.
Dez squeezed her hand which had been clutched in his since they arrived at this club. “Tennacio,” he said, low and deep. “Or ‘thirst’.”
“Fitting,” she muttered. Her eyes slid to a soul whose shadowy silhouette reminded her of Shade, but whose eyes were the putrid yellow of stagnant water. “And who are we looking for again?”
“I’m unsure what he looks like, but he’s called the Treasurer. Reize only told me he’s here every night.” Dez glanced behind him at the doorman. “Apparently he's the opposite of a Scarlet. People compete for his attention, then he chooses his partners.”
Emmery frowned. The booming music ahead twined with animalistic sounds. “Peoplecompeteto sleep with him?”
“Can’t imagine what that’s like,” he said bitterly.
As they stepped through the doorway, Emmery’s heart kicked into a gallop. The foggy room bathed in red lowlight, pulsing music, and—
Oh gods. She rubbed her eyes, convinced for a moment she was still locked in some frigid nightmare within the labyrinth walls.
Between the writhing forms, exposed flesh, sounds of bodies joining, and the thick scent of sweat and sex in the air, Emmery gawked. Some women wore the same skimpy lingerie as her, or pieces of it, while most men wore nothing at all. They all danced, hands all over each other, in sync with the bone rattling music. Hips swaying, rocking, thrusting—
Heat rushed to her face and she peeked at Dez. Though his breath caught, he donned his usual determined stare as he took in the scene. He shouldered through the crowd, keeping her tucked close to him.
In the next room, couples occupied every surface: benches, chairs, stools, stairs, windowsills, and some had even taken to the floor, their clothing discarded like their inhibitions. Each person wore the same hazy euphoria on their face, a product of sin, carnal pleasure, and pure abandon. Emmery skirted a group of five, all of them too distracted to notice her.
Dez raised a brow. “It makes sense why all the furniture is leather.”
A tinge of horror tinted her questioning glance.
“Easier to wipe down,” he said.
She choked on a laugh, unable to swallow past the peach-pit-sized lump in her throat. Never before had she witnessed anything like this. And though this behaviour couldn’t be anything other than sinful and immoral and wrong, it stirred a wild desire inside her along with a flare of liquid heat.
Dez released her hand, then leaned down, his lips at her ear. “Stay here.”
She yelled his name, but he slipped into the crowd.
She had no idea how to find this Treasurer, only what to do once she did. And that in itself was enough to buckle her knees. Heart in her throat, Emmery surveyed the room.
A waiter with obsidian horns navigated the crowd with a tray in hand. Balanced on the tray sat six glasses the height of her thumb, and as they passed people helped themselves. Although she hadn’t had a drink in weeks, Emmery’s mouth watered for the liquid courage.
As the waiter walked by, she snatched two drinks off the tray and didn’t hesitate to tip the first one back. Overwhelming sweetness sang on her tastebuds, and even after she swallowed the florally vanilla liquid tingled on her tongue. In fact, the drink warmed a path all the way down her throat, until it bloomed in her stomach. The prickle spread like wildfire, barrelled through her veins, and stole her breath. Maybe this was some special liquor.