Page 116 of Lunar Desires
I’d found Riley.
I’d found hope.
I’d found a future.
I wouldn’t let it slip through my fingers.
Calling to my magic, I searched for him.
There. Upstairs. Inside a cage.
“I’m coming,” I said, yanking at the chain. “I’m coming.”
Chapter 35
RILEY
Oil slicked the bars of the cramped cage. Iridescent, slimy, and filled with power. It kept my powers on mute, filling my ears with a constant buzz and my head with intervals of thumping agony.
Whatever this stuff was, it kept me hunched and powerless, any escape attempts futile. My witch bangle light blinked amber as if to drive home the direness of my situation.
Damn shadow magic. By the time Marcus’s spell had worn off, I’d been dumped in this cage, missing any opportunity to propel him into something hard.
The cage hung from the ceiling, swinging gently under the glare of strip lights, exposing a large black room, its windows boarded up with wooden panels. There were scuff marks across the grubby floor, along with smears that were probably blood. And there was a bed, made up with black sheets, two plush pillows resting against the metal headboard.
God. This wasn’t good. Shadow witches used blood and murder to fuel their power, so, well, yeah. This could be one rocky ride.
Understatement in the extreme!
Isaac hung in an identical cage opposite me.
“Fuck this,” he kept grunting.
With a tangle of barbed wire in my chest, I plundered the depths of my mind for a solution to this nightmare. I found nothing, but did notice cameras in each corner of the room.
Under surveillance. Great.
We were screwed. We had no leverage, nothing to hit back with. Sold out by the High Coven, a helpless bird in a cage.
To top it off, Drake and Jake were missing.
Oh, God. What if they were dead? What if Marcus showed up with their heads on spikes? A terrible thing to even consider, but these arseholes were capable of anything.
Bile bubbled up my throat, a particularly nasty thump of pain rocking my skull.
They’re not dead. Drake is okay and you’ll hold him again.
Itwillbe okay.
“You good, little brother?” my brother called over again.
I stabilized the beginnings of a spiral, drawing a circle on my palm. “I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he answered. “Give me a few more minutes to hit a lightbulb moment.”
Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands, I scanned the room again for a hint of escape, for something to tip these gloomy scales. There was a lever in the left corner, presumably to control these cages. Though I couldn’t see any sort of mechanism around.
One set of the four double doors around the room opened. Marcus Kingwood strode in, dressed in a black-and-red robe with the symbol of House Kingwood drawn on the front—a red circle surrounding a K. An onyx crown set with rubies sat on his head, the cut of the metal rough and jagged.
