Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Putty.
“I thought you would retire when Cadeon did,” Poppy said. “You must miss his guidance on jobs.”
Rök’s fond smile faded. “Guidance? I was the strategist for our team.” After years of rivalry, he and Cade had joined forces. Their talents had been complementary. Rök lived for spy intrigues and intel; Cade lived to indiscriminately hack at foes with his sword.
Not that Rök didn’t enjoy the feel of a blade slicing open a challenger, but the nimble gathering of intel . . . that was on a different level.
“Strategist, huh?” She tapped her chin. “You know, that explains a lot.”
“We were the most successful crew in the Lore!”
“If you exclude the witches, I suppose.”
“You heard about our Viper Terrace Offensive, right?”
She cast him a bored glance. “Mediocre.”
“The Giant’s Achilles Job?”
“Yawning.”
“The Centaur Infiltration? Sneaking into the royal stable took more than a fake tail—”
“You were with a crew of demons each time,” she pointed out. “Even against a giant, it’s like punching down.”
“I gathered intelligence against Omort the Deathless.” The evil sorcerer who’d seized control of Rothkalina. “And our crew was there the night death finally caught up to that fucker.” They’d defeated Omort’s fire demon allies.
“Yet you didn’t strike the blow.”
Shade usually had no effect on Rök, but hers did. He excelled at his job and found it urgent for her to know that. He’d have to show her. “Working with others is the smartest play. Maybe you and I should team up more often.” A couple of times in the past, he’d lent his fighting weight to help her out. He suspected she’d grudgingly aided him with a bit of magic too on occasion.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
“I would never partner with someone who gets summoned so often.”
He parted his lips to reply, but her criticism was fair. Cade had complained of the same. Though demon breeds could be summoned in various ways, smoke demons formed pacts with sex partners. To break the pact, Rök would have to publicly forsake the female, a cruel prospect. He figured they’d stop summoning him once he’d claimed his mate.
At the end of the hallway was a wooden door. The worn boards and rusted hinges screamed basement. Poppy headed right for it.
“So you’re the character who traipses into the castle’s dark basement?” In an ominous tone, he breathed, “Don’t go in there.”
She kind of grinned, reminding him of how he’d made her laugh on their date.
Then she seemed to harden herself against him. “I’m the witch who said she’d comb this place and is able to hold her own. If something lurks down there, maybe it should fear me. Maybe I am the scariest thing in this castle.”
Sure thing. He applauded her confidence, but a more realistic view of her abilities would only help her. Without her usual stash of pouches, she’d be fighting with one hand tied behind her back.
Poppy Dyer hadn’t achieved her full potential. Would she ever if he got his way?
She opened the door with a creaking groan so perfect someone should record it for a horror soundtrack. A few flickering wall sconces illuminated a steep stairway.
He inhaled the musty air. “This isn’t a basement. It’s a dungeon. The smell of the prisoners might as well be etched into the stone.” He could still scent their desperation.
When Poppy started down, he gripped her shoulder. “Wait.” A charge seemed to flow from her body to his until he had to bite back a groan.
She whirled around, giving his hand an arch look. “What?”
“Tell me what you’re searching for.” What could coax her down those steps?
“Why should I trust you with any more information? How about I tell you as soon as you divvy what brought you here?”
Not the time for that conversation. Instead of answering, he maneuvered around her. “If you’re determined to go down there, at least follow me in.”
A mercenary at heart, she waved him on.
The temperature grew colder as they descended to the dungeon. Inside, their steps echoed, indicating a large underground space. “You sensing anything magical? Maybe the castle’s battery?”
“No.” She peered around intently. “But . . . something.”
He headed in deeper, finding several standard-issue cells, as well as a few openings that dotted the floor in a zigzag pattern. “Ah, oubliettes.”
“Ooblee-what’s?” Poppy asked from behind him.
“Oubliette means a place to forget. Prisoners were dumped into deep, cavernlike holes as a means of imprisonment—and execution.”
“Wouldn’t Lorean bodies still be down there, withered but clinging to life?”
Rök had a flashback of liberating starved immortals from Omort’s personal dungeon. What he’d seen in those bloodstained cells would stay with him for eternity. “Unless they were too young to regenerate. But I don’t scent anyone.” Still stuck in that memory, he eased closer to the nearest oubliette. “How deep are these—”
“Wait!” she cried. “Those openings are bespelled.”
He stepped back, giving his head a shake. “Thanks for the save.”