Page 47 of Hell Fae Captive
Let’s see if she figures this one out.
I pulled Camillia into a cell at the end. Sir Bachen lounged on a one-armed sofa, its leg broken from his weight. Gargoyles were tiny but made of stone, so they were fucking heavy.
I scowled at him. “You’re paying for that.”
He waved away my demand with a sound of gravelly annoyance.
Camillia stepped toward the other sofa. “I warn you, the couches aren’t as comfortable as they look,” Sir Bachen said, his voice grinding.
She paused, looking between me and Az.
My scowl deepened as I directed it at Sir Bachen. He wasn’tsupposed to be helping her.
She frowned, then surveyed the room again, taking in the fine velvet and puffy pillows before shifting down to the knotty, brown rug.
She marched over to it and sat in the center of the tattered mess, a triumphant look on her face, making me growl.
“Cheater,” Az muttered.
“You didn’t name any terms, bird,” Sir Bachen retorted. “Don’t blame me for using it to my advantage.”
Az narrowed his gaze. “Consider it a new term—no helping recruits.”
“You two bid on the success of this disciplinary test?” I looked between them. “Seriously? What were the stakes?”
Sir Bachen puffed out his chest. “Daggers.”
I snorted, smirking at Az. “You should know better than to bet him something so valuable.”
Az grunted, his expression turning to stone. “I’ll get it back.” He tossed a blade to the gargoyle without looking. “Don’t fucking dent it.”
“My precious,” Sir Bachen cooed, stroking the metal before making a show of grinding it between his rocky fingers.
I sighed and shook my head as Az’s gaze smoldered in fury.
No sense in repeating what I’d already said.
Too bad about the furniture, though. I’d been looking forward to seeing how captives reacted to it. And watching Camillia now, I could tell she sensed the sickly magic coating the surface of the designer furniture. It was similar to the compulsory magic used on the candidates in the amphitheater, only it weakened the mind even more, making the occupants more pliable and easier to manage.
Oh well. It probably wouldn’t have worked on Camillia anyway. She seemed far too aware of her surroundings, hence her ability to break out of Lucifer’s mind control earlier.
An impressive feat. One that would probably get her killed.
Pity.
“Ah, well, better get back to it, then,” Sir Bachen said, hopping up with a little twirl of the blade. “I’d hoped Typhos’s sleeping spell would work on me. It didn’t. Should have known. Haven’t slept in, like, a decade, thanks to the heat.” He scratched his shoulder as he spoke, his lips curling down in a grimace.
The gargoyles in the paradigm didn’t seem bothered by the Barren Lands, but those who used the tunnels or ventured outside always complained about the sweltering heat and suffocating air.
Camillia seemed to be handling it all right, but beads of sweat were glistening along her brow, and one danced precariously close to her cleavage. I swallowed, the desire to lick her suddenly inspiring indecent ideas in my mind.
Definitely need Az later, I decided, shaking it off.
There was just something about this girl… something I couldn’t seem to ignore. And that made her dangerous on so many levels. Because I couldn’t afford to become attached to her—or anyone—ever again.
“Typhos?” Camillia repeated, frowning. “Sleeping spell?”
Fucking gargoyle.
