tops—usually black. I just figured it was some kind of personal demon-hunter uniform she instilled for herself. But when she rolled the other sleeve up her forearm and flattened both palms on the table, I realized why. I’d seen her in a dress before, when we went to dinner with George and Jude the first time, and at the Crescent City Masquerade Ball. Both times, she’d worn bangle bracelets or cuffs on both wrists. I’d only thought it her fashion sense, not pretty camouflage for what she hid beneath.
I gasped.
Ringed around her pale wrists were circular silver scars. Kat rolled her wrists on the table, palms up, showing me how they wrapped in a complete circle.
“I’m reminded every day of what happened there. These dungeon bracelets”—she rolled her fists in the air, the lamplight shining on the silvery rings—“they remind me of my own weakness.”
“Weakness?” I asked too loudly. The couple two tables over glanced in our direction. Mira’s eyes popped open. Kat shushed me with a finger to her lips. She pushed her sleeves back into place, then petted Mira’s snowy head till she closed her eyes again.
“How can you possibly say this shows weakness?” I asked.
“Because Damas had won,” she said casually, continuing her attentions to Mira, who dozed again. “Prince Bamal plays the big man in New York. But mark my words, when his brother finally resurfaces for this war, that is who we’ll truly have to battle for our very souls. He plays dirty, and he always wins.” Her voice cracked.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Here we are,” said our too-cheery waitress. “One pulled-pork burrito with everything, and the gulf shrimp quesadillas.”
Kat dropped her gaze to her lap. I gave Fuchsia Bangs a halfhearted smile. She got the message and disappeared.
Kat lifted her chin, swallowing hard. “I want to tell you. I’ve held it in too long. George doesn’t understand.” She fiddled with the napkin in her lap but took a deep breath and held my gaze. “Damas doesn’t torture. He doesn’t maim or hurt to get what he wants.”
“But he handcuffed you.”
“To keep me from running away. I tried…at first.”
Fuchsia Bangs popped up to the table and set a second margarita in front of Kat. “Looked like you needed another. It’s on me.” She winked and jerked her chin at the good-looking guy behind the bar with a tattoo snaking up the side of his neck. “The bartender and I are friends…with benefits.”
Apparently, the benefits included free drinks. “Thanks,” I said.
Kat knocked back two gulps. Regaining her composure, she resettled in her chair, her face hard and cold.
“Damas is the king of them all when it comes to deception. He makes promises. He seduces. He’s extremely intelligent. And above all, he’s patient. I had no idea who or what I was up against until it was too late.” She bit her lip at another memory that seemed to flash through her mind. “I didn’t know I was the prize he’d wanted all along—a reward in this game he’d been playing against George. When I”—she flipped her sleek ponytail to fall down her back—“when I was handcuffed in his lair, he fed me, even bathed me right there in his bedchamber. He took care of my every need. He talked to me and told me stories.” She paused. A crooked smile lifted one side of her mouth. “Stories that made me pity him, then later feel more for him. I was kept in captivity a very long time. After a while, I thought I’d never leave.”
The last she whispered.
“He never forced himself on me. Ever. He wasn’t like his dickhead brother, Danté.”
Danté had kidnapped me and had certainly planned to take me by force. That was, until Jude showed up and chopped off his head, then fed him piece by piece to Cocytus, the banshee-like soul eater. I shivered at the memory of her gulping down his body. He got what he deserved, but it was a gruesome vision all the same.
“What was he like?” I
I gasped.
Ringed around her pale wrists were circular silver scars. Kat rolled her wrists on the table, palms up, showing me how they wrapped in a complete circle.
“I’m reminded every day of what happened there. These dungeon bracelets”—she rolled her fists in the air, the lamplight shining on the silvery rings—“they remind me of my own weakness.”
“Weakness?” I asked too loudly. The couple two tables over glanced in our direction. Mira’s eyes popped open. Kat shushed me with a finger to her lips. She pushed her sleeves back into place, then petted Mira’s snowy head till she closed her eyes again.
“How can you possibly say this shows weakness?” I asked.
“Because Damas had won,” she said casually, continuing her attentions to Mira, who dozed again. “Prince Bamal plays the big man in New York. But mark my words, when his brother finally resurfaces for this war, that is who we’ll truly have to battle for our very souls. He plays dirty, and he always wins.” Her voice cracked.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Here we are,” said our too-cheery waitress. “One pulled-pork burrito with everything, and the gulf shrimp quesadillas.”
Kat dropped her gaze to her lap. I gave Fuchsia Bangs a halfhearted smile. She got the message and disappeared.
Kat lifted her chin, swallowing hard. “I want to tell you. I’ve held it in too long. George doesn’t understand.” She fiddled with the napkin in her lap but took a deep breath and held my gaze. “Damas doesn’t torture. He doesn’t maim or hurt to get what he wants.”
“But he handcuffed you.”
“To keep me from running away. I tried…at first.”
Fuchsia Bangs popped up to the table and set a second margarita in front of Kat. “Looked like you needed another. It’s on me.” She winked and jerked her chin at the good-looking guy behind the bar with a tattoo snaking up the side of his neck. “The bartender and I are friends…with benefits.”
Apparently, the benefits included free drinks. “Thanks,” I said.
Kat knocked back two gulps. Regaining her composure, she resettled in her chair, her face hard and cold.
“Damas is the king of them all when it comes to deception. He makes promises. He seduces. He’s extremely intelligent. And above all, he’s patient. I had no idea who or what I was up against until it was too late.” She bit her lip at another memory that seemed to flash through her mind. “I didn’t know I was the prize he’d wanted all along—a reward in this game he’d been playing against George. When I”—she flipped her sleek ponytail to fall down her back—“when I was handcuffed in his lair, he fed me, even bathed me right there in his bedchamber. He took care of my every need. He talked to me and told me stories.” She paused. A crooked smile lifted one side of her mouth. “Stories that made me pity him, then later feel more for him. I was kept in captivity a very long time. After a while, I thought I’d never leave.”
The last she whispered.
“He never forced himself on me. Ever. He wasn’t like his dickhead brother, Danté.”
Danté had kidnapped me and had certainly planned to take me by force. That was, until Jude showed up and chopped off his head, then fed him piece by piece to Cocytus, the banshee-like soul eater. I shivered at the memory of her gulping down his body. He got what he deserved, but it was a gruesome vision all the same.
“What was he like?” I
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