Page 129 of The Firebrand
Being called to the Bludhunt was unfuckingbelievable.
Had anyone ever died from refusing to mate? If not, he could be the first.
“For what it’s worth, you should keep your cock in your pants and your fangs in your mouth when you’re around that female. I guess it’s too late for that advice, though.”
Both males turned back toward the prisoner when the satyr yelped. The odor of burning flesh floated in the air as the warlock gaffer held fire to the guy’s feet. With a wave of the mage’s fingers, it crawled up his legs.
“Ask me some questions.” The satyr screeched louder than a harpy giving birth to quadruplets. “I’ll talk.”
“I know. I’m just having fun, dickbreath.”
His bubbling flesh peeling, the prisoner swallowed large gulps of air with each scream. “Stop. There’s another stockade.”
A demon shouted out from a cell. “Shut up, you idiot. You’re a dead man anyway.”
But the satyr just kept spewing intel. “Let me down. I’ll tell you how to get there.”
The warlock gaffer lowered him to the ground, unhooking the chain attached to the ceiling. When he fell, the satyr scooted backward to prop himself against the wall.
Once he started talking, he spilled his guts longer than a diva sang an aria. “After trackers deliver the humans, we dump them in cells. We take a blood sample. Later, we’re notified if a prisoner is for sale. Aisen, he runs the stockades, arranges all that shit. We’re just told to ready them for pickup. Sometimes the vampire says we can fuck them as a reward. I never did that myself.”
“Damn liar,” yelled a captive demon. “You couldn’t get enough pussy or dick.”
Rein’s muscles contracted, about to snap, while he listened to the satyr. He kicked upright, away from the wall.
Kole laid a hand on his shoulder. “Steady. It didn’t happen to Braelyn. We got there in time.”
“It could have.” A feral growl rumbled up from his chest.
“But it didn’t. Get a hold on yourself.”
Rein didn’t want to get himself under control. He wanted to kill the satyr and the demons, but he would wait until the gaffers wrung every bit of useful information from them.
“Why take their blood?” pursued the older gaffer.
“No clue. It was a priority to somebody.”
“I want names. Who bought the humans?” asked the mage.
“Aisen kept the records. I can only tell you the ones I remember.”
The bullnecked, beefy demon gaffer lifted the satyr by the manacles and slammed him into a chair. “Okay. We’ll get to that. For your sake, I hope you remember lots of names. Now, find the other stockade.” He slapped a map onto the table in front of the prisoner.
“It’s in Knife’s Edge. A farm.” He traced a finger down a road that veered off onto a vast, unmarked area. “Somewhere here.”
Kole strode forward to study the map. “Fine. I’ll want a description of the facility along with how to get in. How did you communicate with Aisen? Was it regular?”
“No. He’d call us when a sale was pending. Tell us to expect someone. Sometimes he dropped by to shake things up.”
“Did you ever see Silas, Aisen’s brother?” asked the commander, his hand resting on the handle of his battle axe.
“Rarely. Only when he brought in human captives.”
“Draw me a floor plan. Then make a list of the Earthers along with who purchased them.” Kole nodded at the older gaffer, who put pencil and paper in front of the satyr. “I want the number you used to reach Aisen, too.”
Rein shoved off from the wall, sidling up to Kole. “Just gonna share a few words of comfort with the prisoners.”
He leaned down, squeezing the satyr’s shoulder, whispering in an ear, “Your balls are between a rock and a hammer, asshole. If this info isn’t spot-on, I’m going to pound you into the ground like a stake. Understand?”
