Page 72 of Infernal Bindings

PUNISHMENT

The club’s elevator doors shut for what I hope is the last time tonight, trapping Sylrin and me inside them. My mind is racing, trying to parse truth from fiction—my feelings for Daemon versus the ones he planted. Somehow, I doubt I’ll ever be able to untangle them.

As Sylrin’s tail winds around my middle, I’m acutely aware of how close we are and how much larger and stronger he is than me. “We’ll go straight to the entrance,” he says. “No need to revisit any of the other floors. Unless, of course, you want to.”

Is he… propositioning me?

Eww.

“Pass.”

The demon chuckles, the soft glow of the elevator buttons glinting off the spikes on his face. “If you ever change your mind…” Sylrin snaps his fingers and a shiny silver key appears in his hand—the one to the chastity belt Minerva lent me. It’s so inappropriate, I don’t deign him with a response. I simply roll my eyes.

“I think I liked you better when you were rescuing me from those assholes in the dream room,” I say finally.

He chuckles again, but there’s something sinister to it lurking underneath the surface that sends tingles up my spine.

“All you witches are so prudish,” he tells me. “I’m guessing Minerva dosed you with her eye drops?”

“What if she hadn’t?” I ask reflexively.

Daemon’s father looks at me, his black eyes soulless voids of darkness as he pockets the key. There’s no hint of playfulness to his expression, no indication that whatever he’s about to say is a joke or a lie. “You’re Daemon’s witch. It’s rude to touch another incubus’s pet without permission. Still, he’s indisposed, so I’m not sure the rules apply.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Quite frankly, I’m not sure I want him to.

“Given the circumstances, I’d have my fun with you, then mind sweep you at the end of the night. You’d be none the wiser, and we’d have a great time.”

“You’d rape me?” I ask, and now it’s him who rolls his eyes.

“I’m an incubus, Annie. Besides, you wouldn’t remember anything or be traumatized by it.”

With morals like his, it’s no wonder Daemon hates him. Then again, Daemon’s no saint either. As the elevator doors ping open, Sylrin’s tail snakes a little tighter, and we exit into what should be a loud and crowded dance floor. Silence greets us.

There’s no one here. No human pets. No asshole demons. Nothing. Salios’s throne is gone as well. The wooden dance floor is free of blood and as intact as it had been the night I first arrived. It’s even polished to a shine.

Strobe lights flicker throughout the room. Glowsticks and confetti lay strewn about the empty floor. As Sylrin and I step forward, we appear magnified on the projection screen, though there’s no one here to project us. A shiver runs through me, and Sylrin tenses too, peering over both his shoulders as we walk at a snail’s pace toward the exit.

“What’s happening?” I ask him under my breath, watching my mouth move on the projection screen.

He swallows. “I’m not sure. But I’d bet anything Dorul and his friends had something to do with it.” Dorul—the incubus who brought me to the sleep rooms. “If word got out his witch was here…”

The projection screen cuts to black, and then Daemon’s face appears on it—except it isn’t Daemon’s face. There’s something wrong with it. Something crueler. Salios.

“I warned you, Annalise,” he purrs, a smile curving his lips. “If another demon caught you in this space, I’d be forced to punish you. I can’t be caught playing favorites or choosing to selectively apply my laws. It gives me a bad reputation.”

“Please,” I whisper, even though I know pleading isn’t going to work—not with an archdemon. “I’m already leaving.”

He shakes his head. “If I were you, I’d run.”

Beside me, Sylrin collapses to his knees, his tail jerking free of me. Something red and viny sprouts from the floor, curling around his wrists and ankles, trapping him there. The hellish plants climb higher, wrapping around his thighs, his chest, his throat and head.

Neck muscles straining, Sylrin glances up at me. “Go. Get to the doors.”

Salios laughs, the sound echoing across the empty dance floor. “Oh, I’ll have fun punishing you too.” Simultaneously, the vines spear into Sylrin’s eyes, mouth, and ears, and he grunts as he collapses into a weightless heap. It won’t kill him—demons can’t die—and somehow knowing that makes everything worse.

Before I can so much as react, more vines come, slithering up my ankles. Grunting, I rip at them with my fingers, but they don’t budge. This would be so much easier if I had a knife.