Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” Jonas warned her. “If you do, I’ll have Drew rip out your son’s throat. I believe you’re well-acquainted with him, aren’t you? He’s been rather helpful these past couple of weeks. Who can blame him for standing with me after what Knox did to him?”
Harper narrowed her eyes, hands fluttering slightly with a desperation she tried to hide. She suspected the only reason Jonas hadn’t directed the shuck to attack Asher was that he didn’t want to risk him raising his shield. The Prime was also enjoying her fear for her son. It would be damn good if Asher felt that same fear, but he was still smiling at the shuck.
“You don’t really think you can keep me from my son, do you?” Harper asked, keeping her tone controlled and flat, hoping to hide the sheer terror choking her.
“Maybe not. But he can.” Jonas clicked his fingers at the man at his side, who sputtered a brief chant. And then, just like that, she was enclosed in an iron cage much like the one in the basement where Alethea kept her captives to feed the incorporeal, only its bars covered in what looked like lava. What the everloving fuck?
As her demon predictably lost its shit, ranting and raving and determined that these fuckers would die today, Harper grabbed the iron bars, intending to shake the cage, but the liquid fire coating it burned like a goddamn son of a fucking bitch. She snatched her hands back, grinding her teeth as her skin sizzled. Knox, don’t come into view. Jonas has a dark practitioner who can cage people with magick.
You’re caged? Fuck. I’m going to rip out their fucking spinal cords.
She could so get behind that plan. Stay downwind of the hellcat and the shuck. It was a wonder she’d managed to sound composed when her mind was in chaos at being separated from Asher this way. She wanted to pound her fists against the cage. But Jonas would love that display of emotion. The flames of hell would sever the iron bars, but she couldn’t call on them without risking the others harming Asher.
Please, baby boy, put up your shield, she begged him. But still, Asher didn’t.
Jonas studied her. “You lied about not having wings, I see.” He exhaled. “I suppose that was Jolene’s idea. She no doubt suspected you’d be hunted due to how unique they are, so she advised you to claim that you had none. Sensible. They’re quite beautiful—the colors of the flames of hell.” His eyes darted to the shuck as it weirdly whined and shook its head. “I did intend to cage the boy … but I think the sight of him surrounded by hellish beasts will terrify Knox much more than seeing him confined.”
Harper knew he’d be right on that, since it had instilled the same terror in her.
“Since you don’t appear to be deep in grief, I’m guessing that Knox is still alive.” Jonas sighed sadly. “I had doubted that the crash would be enough to kill him, but the hope was certainly there. I suppose you’ve already telepathed him with news of my presence. Good. I want him afraid for you. And what better way to frighten him than to slather your mind with a spell that will prevent anyone from sensing you—he’ll think you’re dead.”
Harper stiffened, stomach rolling. “That’s not possible.”
Jonas shot the practitioner a sideways glance. “Charles.”
She felt an oily tendril of magick poke her mind like a fingertip … and then she watched with a smile as Charles winced and rubbed at his temple. “Her mind is protected with sharp psychic barbs,” he complained.
Jonas’s mouth tightened. “What about the boy?”
A hiss slid out of her before she could stop it, which only made Jonas give her a gloating smile.
Charles plucked at his collar. “He may well have inherited her psychic barbs. Even if he hasn’t, touching his mind would be a bad idea if you really don’t want him to slam up his shield. A foreign psychic touch could make him and his demon feel threatened.”
“True,” Jonas ground out. “Look at him, Harper, just sitting there staring at the shuck—completely unafraid. Your son is either very brave or very stupid.”
“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you. This won’t end well for you, Jonas, and you know it. I can’t even imagine why you started it.” She frowned as a hazy swirl appeared in front of the cage. Then, suddenly, an imitation of Heidi stood in its place, smiling slyly. Harper gave it a scathing look and then spoke to Jonas, “Ah, it’s your little pet dog again.” The incorporeal bared its teeth.
“That’s such a mean thing to say.”
The words didn’t come from the incorporeal. Or Jonas. Or the practitioner. They came from the person who strolled out of the trees and sidled up to Jonas.