ABludkravk?I didn’t know what the hell Devereaux was talking about, but the sinister weight of the word sank in my stomach like a stone.
Zhara’s narrow gaze fixed on Evren. “For such a terrifying beast, this one’s all bark and no bite.”
Evren’s nostrils flared in anger.
“Well, am I wrong?” she taunted. The impish smile she wore was an invitation. A challenge.
Veronika muttered a curse under her breath.
“I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong,” Evren replied coolly, fixing Zhara with a menacing glare. “It’s been so long that you seem to have forgotten my potency.”
August trembled beside me as Zhara and Evren glared at one another from across the table. I watched, unable to tear my gaze away. Without warning, Evren lurched across the table and seized a fistful of Zhara’s hair, yanking hard enough to elicit a yelp. I gasped in shock, but no one paid me any mind. Zhara screeched in outrage, but no amount of twisting or thrashing was enough to slip Evren’s savage hold on her as his other hand moved to squeeze around her throat. Veronika and a few of the others gave shouts of protest to no avail. Devereaux watched the scene unfold with mild interest.
And then, abruptly, Zhara’s thrashing stopped. She went utterly silent before a low, primal moan was wrenched from her throat. Evren’s grip wasn’t tight enough to cut off her air supply, and yet her entire body was twitching and thrumming as though she’d touched a live wire. Evren’s mouth broke into a triumphant grin as Zhara desperately tried to wriggle free, choking in agony, sweat pouring down her face, but he maintained his brutal hold.
I watched the pair of them struggle, transfixed. Suddenly, Zhara lost control, unleashing a sharp, high-pitched cry as she finally succumbed to the unknown pain, her limbs seizing violently.
“Devereaux, please,” Veronika implored him to intercede, but he merely shrugged, an amused smile playing on his lips.
August’s dark eyes had gone wide with horror, like he knew all too well what brand of agony Zhara was enduring. I glanced around, desperate to summon someone, anyone, to help— but the Tusk was empty, apart from our table. This realization onlyrenewed the panic curdling my blood, as the sound of Zhara’s cries amplified and echoed against the high ceilings. My breathing became ragged and uneven.
“Enough, Evren,” Devereaux spoke in a silky cadence that made my skin crawl. “Or someone’ll call the dogs on us.” He indicated the staff room with a bone-white hand.
Zhara was still panting, recovering from whatever torment Evren had loosed upon her. Evren shrugged a shoulder and released her, his expression smug as he watched Zhara wheeze her way back to equilibrium.
“If you don’t mind,” I blurted out, my voice louder and quivering with more fury than I’d expected, “I have things to do other than sit here and listen to your bickering all evening.”
At that, Devereaux’s polite mask faltered, and several of the others audibly hissed. All of the oxygen in the gargantuan hall seemed to evaporate at my words. I felt my muscles go taut, pulled by some invisible force. Beside me, August trembled.
“Perhaps you should teach her some manners, Dev,” Evren snarled.
As the others jeered and joked along with Evren, I took advantage of their momentary distraction to pinch August under the table, where Devereaux couldn’t see.
“August, we need to get out of here,” I urged under my breath.
I suspected August had sought them out for the same reasons he ought to have been wary; namely, their reputation for wealth and power. But why, after discovering that this society was run by a bunch of sadists who possessed strange powers of compulsion, had he stayed? Or had he not been given a choice?
August turned slowly to meet my gaze, his jaw clenched tightly, his mouth set in a hard line, and something like a plea flashing in his eyes.
A warning.
“Can’t we use her in the ritual?” asked the hideous woman with yellow teeth, leaning across the table to leer at me.
I recoiled from her in disgust.
Devereaux clicked his tongue in a gesture of false censure, a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t be greedy, Neely, we’ve already selected our donors.”
Ignoring Devereaux, Evren turned to me, his flinty green gaze catching my apprehensive expression, and he smiled viciously, displaying a set of unnaturally white teeth. “Now there’s an idea, Neels,” he murmured.
Abruptly, August spoke up, his voice quiet but surprisingly steady. “Her blood is unworthy,” he said. “You’d be better off finding someone else.”
I stared at him, but his gaze was fixed on Devereaux. They’d just been discussing using my blood in some sick ritual—and now August had intervened. Was he trying to be cruel? A dark thought roiled to the surface of my mind.
Maybe he really does think my blood’s unworthy.
I relaxed when the bitter taste of August’s deceit rolled across my tongue. No, that’s not it. So why intervene? Does this mean he still cares for me? My chest burned with hope.
Devereaux was no longer smiling. “And what do you know of blood, Sinclair?” he asked softly.