The darkness receded slowly. First came sound, a distant dripping. then sensation, a coarse fabric beneath my fingertips. Finally, light penetrated my eyelids, turning the darkness into murky red.

  When I finally managed to open my eyes, the dim room spun violently. I squeezed them closed again, battling nausea.

  In the arena, I’d catalogued injuries with precision. A dislocated shoulder meant fighting left-handed. Broken ribs required shallow breaths. But this—this was different. The poison had seeped into every part of me, turning my own body against me.

  My thoughts refused to line up. I remembered Dario’s tavern, the green liquid, Marcelo’s face, then nothing but fragments.

  I tried again to open my eyes. The ceiling above blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again. I attempted to move my hand. A finger twitched, but the effort left me exhausted.

  Seconds stretched into hours. Minutes compressed into heartbeats. The fog had weight, pressing down on my chest, my limbs, filling my veins with lead.

  I wasn’t lying on the ground, probably a bed, then. The surface was certainly softer than a table. I strained to listen but all that came through was a rushing inside my own head and the slamming of my heart in my chest.

  A voice pierced through the fog and I moved my eyes frantically for the source, only to focus on Marcelo standing in the corner of the room, arms crossed as he watched me. He walked over and crouched down, bringing his face close to mine.

  “You’re fighting it, that’s good. I like that you’re a fighter. It’s going to be so much more fun when I break you.”

  He stood and turned, walking out of the room. Through the fog, I heard the door slam dully. The effort of the last few moments, paying attention, trying to move, just staying awake, had drained any energy that still remained. Without my willing them to, my eyes closed again.

  Cold. So cold. My skin felt like ice against the damp sheets beneath me. The Golden-Hour poison had soaked through my system, leaving my shivering uncontrollably beneath what felt like a thin blanket. My teeth chattered, the sound impossibly loud inside my skull.

  “Joy.” The voice came from somewhere to my left.

  I tried to turn my head, but my muscles refused to cooperate. My eyes shifted instead, seeking the source of the sound.

  Selwyn’s face swam into view, his expression gentle with concern. Those kind eyes I’d seen a hundred times before, watching me with such tenderness it made my chest ache.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  That couldn’t be right. I was freezing. The contradiction floated in my mind, unable to connect with any logical thought. Selwyn’s hands felt real against my skin, the broad palms, the calluses on his fingertips from years of handling horses. I tried to speak, to tell him about Ellah, about Marcelo, but my tongue felt swollen and useless in my mouth.

  “Don’t try to talk. Save your strength. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Relief washed over me. Selwyn had come. Of course he had. He always came, quiet and steady, a shadow at my back whenever I needed him. I felt myself relax, surrendering to his care.

  His hand stroked my hair, fingers combing through the tangled white strands. But something felt... wrong. The rhythm was off. Selwyn's touch was always gentle, almost hesitant. This touch was possessive, lingering too long at the nape of my neck.

  I forced my eyes to focus, trying to see beyond the fog of the poison. The face before me shimmered, features blurring and reforming. Selwyn's eyes darkened, his face narrowed, and suddenly it was Marcelo looking down at me, a cruel smile on his lips.

  "There you are," he said, his voice dropping the pretence of Selwyn's gentleness. "Who were you seeing, I wonder?"

  He didn't pull his hand away from my hair, instead letting his fingers continue to stroke through it. His other hand remained on my forehead, the cool cloth now moving in gentle circles against my heated skin.

  "Was it the stable boy? Did you like his touch? It's fascinating to watch you respond, even when it's just me."

  Rage surged through me, but my body remained immobile. I could feel my heart rate accelerating, the only part of me still capable of expressing my fury.

  Marcelo laughed, the sound grating against my sensitised ears. "The poison works differently on demons. Humans just pass out. But you... you get to experience all sorts of interesting visions. Tell me, is it pleasant to see familiar faces? Faces you trust? To feel their hands on you, comforting you?"

  His fingers traced the curve of my ear, then down along my jaw in the same path Selwyn's fingers had traveled countless times when checking me for injuries after a fight. The familiarity of the touch made my stomach turn.

  I tried to spit at him, but could only manage a slight dampening of my lips. Even that small act of defiance drained me.

  His hand shot out, gripping my jaw with bruising force. He turned my head side to side, examining me like a specimen. His thumb pressed against my lower lip, the pressure just shy of pain.

  "I've been studying your kind for years." Marcelo's other hand slid from my forehead to my cheek in a mock-tender caress. "The physical differences are obvious enough, but it's the mental ones that fascinate me. Did you know your brain works differently? Your thoughts, emotions, all of it structured in ways humans could barely comprehend."

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  His fingers slid down to my throat, pressing against my pulse point. I couldn't recoil, couldn't fight back. The helplessness burned worse than any physical pain.

  "But I comprehend it." He leaned close so I could feel his breath hot against my ear. "I've cut open enough of your kind to understand exactly how to break you."

  His fingers tightened momentarily, cutting off my air just long enough to send panic shooting through my system before he released me with a satisfied smile. He stood, adjusting his sleeves as though handling me had somehow soiled them.

  "I'll let you rest now." His voice returned to its cultured politeness. "We have plenty of time ahead of us."

  The darkness around the edges of my vision returned, a relief from Marcelo's taunting. I didn't fight it this time, letting unconsciousness claim me again.

  It was the thumping of heavy footfalls that pulled me back to consciousness. They moved across the wooden floorboards, deliberate and unhurried. The sound reverberated through my head like thunder. I pried my eyes open and saw Dario standing beside the bed.

  His expression was unreadable in the dim light of the candles, but there was something about the set of his shoulders that spoke of resignation.

  When he finally noticed my open eyes, he flinched slightly.

  "You're awake." He leaned down and pressed his hand onto my forehead. Dario tsked and sat on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. My body rolled slightly toward him, and nausea surged at the movement.

  "Still burning up. Marcelo's going to be furious if you're not coherent soon," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

  He reached for something beside the bed, a small ceramic bowl that had been sitting on a side table. From it, he removed a piece of cloth and squeezed it. The cool dampness returned to my forehead, a momentary relief from the fire raging beneath my skin.

  "Never thought I'd be nursing a Blade of Tesharen. Life takes strange turns, doesn't it?"

  He knew what I was. Of course he would. I tried to form words, demand information about Ellah.

  Dario clicked his tongue, seeming to understand my struggle. "Don't bother trying to talk. The Golden-Hour's still got you. Strong batch, this one. Had to be, for someone like you."

  His weight shifted on the bed and I felt him reaching for my throat. With surprisingly gentle movements, he began unclasping my cloak.

  "Need to get you cooled down. Too many layers. And Marcelo wants to see what he's bought, anyway."

  Bought. The word sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with my fever.

  He let out what must have been a low whistle when he saw my collar, but the sound was incredibly high-pitched, and I scrunched my face to block the sound out.

  "Well, well. Jacobi Velez doesn't spare any expense, does he? Must have cost a small fortune." Dario roughly slid his hands under my neck and unbuckled the collar from around my throat. It's absence felt like losing a layer of protection. The gems coolness against my skin had been a soothing reminder of home.

  I struggled to scream, to lash out, but my body refused to respond.

  "Traitor," I managed, the words slurred, but understandable.

  "We all do what we must to survive." Dario pocketed the collar, quick and furtive. "Survival trumps honor, you of all people should understand that."

  "Ellah..." I forced the name through numb lips.

  Dario's expression tightened. "The princess is alive. That's all I know." He stood, gathering the bowl and cloth. "And all you need to know. Focus on surviving what is coming."

  The sincerity in his voice was somehow worse than mockery would have been. I was almost grateful when consciousness began to slip away again.

  "...the fever's not breaking." The voice floated above me, dark with concern.

  "Give her more of this. It should help."

  Cool liquid touched my lips, trickling into my mouth. I swallowed reflexively, then coughed as the bitter taste hit the back of my throat.

  "Easy, easy." A familiar hand steadied my shoulder.

  I forced my eyes open, blinking against the light of the room. Jacobi sat on the edge of the bed, his dark eyes fixed on my face. Relief flooded through me, tears welling up in my eyes.

  "Jacobi... You found me." My voice was only a ragged scrape, but it was enough.

  He smiled, the rare genuine smile that transformed his entire face. "I'll always find you." his hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. "You're mine, remember?"

  Mine.

  I leaned into his touch. Through the haze of poison and fever, I felt the reassurance of his presence.

  "You're cold." His arms slid around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest. I let myself lean into him, my cheek pressed against what felt like expensive fabric.

  His hand rubbed slow circles on my back, then slid lower, trailing along my spine in a way that made my skin prickle with unease. His touch lingered at my waist, fingers splayed against my side.

  "Better?" There was something about his voice that tugged at my awareness. A note of satisfaction? But the warmth was so comforting, and I was so tired of fighting the cold.

  "Ellah. We need to find her." I pushed the words out with effort, focusing on what mattered.

  "We will. But first, we need to get you well again."

  "How did you get in here?"

  His smile turned sharp. "I have my ways. Money speaks many languages. Even here."

  That made sense. Jacobi's wealth could open many doors.

  "Drink this. It will help with the poison." He brought a cup to my lips again. "It's an antidote. The doctor gave it to me."

  The mention of Susan reassured me and I parted my lips, letting him tip the liquid into my mouth. It tasted sweeter this time, herbal and sharp.

  As I swallowed, his hand moved to my throat, fingers tracing the place his collar had been. "They took it." His voice was tight with anger.

  "Dario."

  Something flashed across his face, not the protective rage I was expecting, but something more possessive.

  "You need rest." He helped me lay back down carefully. His hands lingered, straightening the blankets. One hand slid beneath the covers, settling on my waist. "You're still shivering." His hand moved in slow, warming circles that drifted upwards to my ribs, then back down to my hip.

  "Rest." His hand stroked my hair. "I'll be here when you wake."

  Marcelo leaned closer, his eyes glittering with triumph as he saw the sudden recognition in mine. "Such a loyal little demon. So desperate to believe your master came for you. But he hasn't, has he? He's abandoned you. That's what humans do. We discard what no longer serves us."

  I tried to pull away, but my body remained unresponsive, the poison still binding me to helplessness.

  "Jacobi thinks he owns you." Marcelo's touch grew bolder as it moved across my shoulder, down my arm. "But he doesn't understand what ownership means. It's not just a collar or a legal document." His fingers tightened painfully around my wrist. "It's this. Knowing that your body, your will, everything you are belongs to someone else. Should we see how much you can take tonight? Or shall we save it for when you're more... present? I want you to remember every moment, after all."

  The last thing I saw before I passed out was his smile, cold, calculating, and filled with anticipation.