Where is Des? What must he think?

“Hello?” I call out.

No one answers.

In the distance I hear quiet murmuring, and the soft click of shoes along the walkways outside the cells, which must belong to prison guards. I grimace. If that’s the case, then there are at least a handful of people who know what happened to the warrior women who disappeared from the Otherworld. And they’re facilitating it.

Other than those few sounds, the cell blocks are eerily silent.

This is the place where hope comes to die.

And then, a thought strikes me, one that gives me courage.

“Bargainer,” I rush to say, “I’d like to make a deal.”

I wait for the air to shimmer and Des’s large body to take up space in my cell.

A second passes. Then another. And another.

The cell remains exactly how I found it.

“Bargainer, I’d like to make a deal,” I repeat.

He’s always come in the past. Always. And after last night, I know that he will come for me now that our seven years are up.

Again I wait.

Nothing happens. My room remains empty. Horribly empty.

And now I have to accept that Des can’t get to me, either because he’s been incapacitated—an idea I reject with every fiber of my being—or something is preventing him.

Something like magic.

Something so powerful a fae king cannot get immediately around it. That’s what I now have to contend with. And if I want to make it out of here alive, I’ll need to figure out a way to get past it.

Captivity is … boring.

Frightening, but boring. It consists largely of me sitting in my cell, wondering what exactly is going to happen to me and how I managed to land myself into an Otherworld prison. One that is secretly capturing fae females for some nefarious purpose.

My thoughts are only interrupted every hour or so, when a set of guards makes their circuit past my cell. The first time I saw them, I’d startled at the sight. Each one looks like a blend of animal and man. Some have snouts instead of noses, others haunches instead of legs, and some, whiskers, claws, and fangs.

To a human like me the sight is … off-putting. But then again, the guards are also currently my enemies, so I’m a bit biased.

The only time the guards stray from their hourly patrol is when, like now, two of them cart a fae woman by the armpits back to her cell.

I press my face to the bars, taking in her slumped shoulders, her bowed head, and her lank hair, which hangs loosely in front of her face. Her bare feet drag along the ground behind her. I watch until they move past my line of sight, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous room.

My eyes drift to the other prisoners. Most either sit or lay unmoving inside their cells. I don’t think they’re dead, but they don’t look all that lively either.

Not dead but not alive.

And is that going to happen to me too?

I’m no fae warrior. I’m what fairies derogatively call a slave. A human. To be fair, I’m a supernatural one, but at the end of the day I’m still human. I have no value here as a prisoner.

So why was I taken?

The answer is right there in front of me.

Because you mean something to the King of the Night.

Somehow his enemies learned this, and they captured me to get to him.

I stare down at my wisp of a dress. Not even going to think about the fact that I didn’t put this on. My situation has enough horror in it as is.

An evening of bliss, followed by this. I got to enjoy the perks of being the Night King’s mate for a whopping day.

And now this.

Here it is, the fall after the high. And in my world there’s always a fall. I knew it was too good to think that I would just get a man like Des after all this time. He was always meant to be someone just out of my reach.

Two sets of footsteps head in my direction, interrupting my thoughts. Another rotation for the prison guard.

Only, this time, they halt in front of my prison.

The iron shackles clang between my ankles and my wrists as the guards on either side of me lead me away from my prison cell. My nose itches as the blindfold one of the guards tied around my head now tickles my nose.

Overkill much?

I don’t even get to be flattered by it either. It’s probably standard procedure for the incarcerated warriors.

It could be worse. If I were a fae, the iron cuffs wouldn’t simply be rubbing away skin; it would be sizzling my flesh and draining me of my energy.

Gradually, the quiet murmurs die away and the air begins to smell fresher, though it’s still musty, heavy with the scent of … animals.

It takes another five minutes before I’m deposited in a room. The air here feels heavy, ominous.

Bad things happen here.

Bad things are going to happen to me.

I try not to panic. I spent years making sure I’d never again be a victim, and it was all for naught. My glamour doesn’t work on any of these beings, and without it, I’m simply a human woman up against powerful fairies.

The guards release me, their footsteps retreating behind me. A moment later, the door opens, then closes softly, and I’m alone again, shackled and blindfolded in this room that feels evil.

My awareness stretches out. I can hear someone breathing.

Fuck, not alone after all. My panic spikes.

“Desmond Flynn’s one weakness.” The deep, vibrating voice fills the room, and I can feel the creature’s power in his words. “And I have her.”

My heart’s pounding, and as my fear rises, so does my siren.