Page 5 of A Hint of Darkness
He shook his head. “If they do, they’re not revealing the information no matter what is done to them. Peter’s freedom increased their chances of them getting their own, permanently.”
“Can he release them again?”
“I don’t think it’s possible with you here. I’m still not convinced that him using you to release them the first time was a coincidence.”
Once again, I was under his heavy gaze, but I didn’t entertain comment because I felt differently. Me being locked in here now wasn’t a coincidence, but I thought my initial entanglement was a crime of opportunity.
“If they are ever released and determine that they can’t be returned to their prison, the chaos begins. A civil war where there will be no impunity for the victor.”
“You’ll do nothing about it?”
“I will.”
I took his terse response, accepting being spared the details of the violence and death that would be needed to control the situation. And the inevitable firestorm he would face from other witches if he had to kill Celeste, whose magical link to the most powerful witches in existence meant that they would die as well.
Fear of what this meant for not just the supernaturals, but humans as well, brought new clarity. Everything I’d learned and experienced during my initial visit to the underworld raced through my mind.
“I might be able to leave,” I rushed out, recalling the use of the Trapsen he’d given me before, which allowed me to travel between the two worlds. “And get help,” I tacked on with zero confidence that was possible, because negotiation was why the responsibility of regulating the supernaturals had been taken from Dominic and returned to Demetrius. I had not made friends of the Awakeners, who wanted to expose the world to the existence of supernaturals, not as a courtesy to allow them to navigate a world where they were pawns between those who wanted to remain hidden and those who didn’t, but because they felt that exposure would elevate the supernaturals to the top of the food chain, putting humans at the bottom where they would be treated in ways that would serve as a reminder of their lowly status. Things weren’t much better with those who wanted to stay hidden, because if a human gained any knowledge of them, usually as a result of a supernatural’s failure, humans paid. Magic was used on them to wipe their minds, or they were compelled by a vampire to believe what the supernaturals wanted them to believe.
Dominic pulled the triangular prism from his pocket and handed it to me. “I figured you’d want to try. I’m not hopeful that it will work.” He flashed a small knife, which I’d need to draw blood and close around the Trapsen to activate it.
“It’s worth a try,” I said.
“If it does, then what?” His voice was neutral and his expression mild.
“I’ll get Nailah to help me.” Of the people I’d met, she’d exhibited the level of diplomacy that may yield the best results. “Have you tried it?”
He nodded.
“Give me Nailah’s info and I’ll contact her.” Their Seer appeared to have a rapport with the Conventicle’s representatives. Or at the very least, she didn’t seem to antagonize them to the extent Anand and Dominic did.
I tucked away the piece of paper containing the various ways to contact her, including a spell, which I wasn’t sure was useful to me.
“Ready?” Dominic asked.
I nodded and extended my hand to him. After a quick prick from the blade, I closed my fingers around the Trapsen, making sure it made contact with the welling blood. Closing my eyes, I imagined my small apartment. Home. Home. Home. How very Wizard of Oz. But I continued the silent chant with the entreat of a plea.
When I reopened them, Dominic had invaded the space between us, his expression expectant.
“Trapped here.”
Maybe he had felt some hope for success, because anger and the promise of unspeakable revenge tinged his voice. He was putting a great deal of effort in subduing the raging beast who didn’t appreciate being trapped.
After several minutes working for that control, he found it. Exhaling a slow breath, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt then the front buttons. When he shrugged off his shirt, my gaze moved from his face to the intricate sigils snaking around his body that made him immune to witch magic.
“Shower,” he said, leaving the room.
To stop myself trailing after him, I returned to sorting through the remainder of the clothing. I found a few dresses, a pair of black heels, and flats, which surprisingly fit. Unzipping the smaller bag, I found underwear and socks. Warmth inched up my cheeks at the thought of him picking these items for me, then I wondered if he had chosen them or had someone else do it. There was a collection of cotton hipsters and briefs, lacy thongs, and cheeky panties. The same with the bras: comfortable-looking sports bras, balconette, satin and lace embroidered plunge ones, and even several sheer bras that served no other purpose than to be sexy. Even the assortment of footwear ranged from simple ankle socks to thick fluffy ones with hints of lavender permeating off them. Sleepwear consisted of oversized shirts and tanks with matching wide-leg pants, all nicer than anything I’d wear to sleep in. Barely there tank and matching shorts so cute there wouldn’t be any sleeping, and an ultra-soft cami.
Thoughts of our sleeping arrangements were interrupted by Dominic calling me from the door. A towel was wrapped low around his waist, his hair was wet and messy, and the dimmed light cast a shadow that darkened his eyes.
“I’m out of the shower,” he said. “It’s free if you need it,” he added, answering my expression of confusion.
“Where am I sleeping?” I asked, grabbing the cami and panties and following him into the room.
“Wherever you’d like.” He moved to the bed, dropping the towel and giving me a glimpse of his ass before sliding on a pair of briefs and getting into the bed.
It was nearly impossible to enjoy the shower, the waterfall showerhead, the dark and jagged stacked stones surrounding me, and the soft lights designed to create a relaxing experience. I should have focused on all that, but my mind kept going to the sexy-as-sin prince just outside my door. Showered, I stacked my towel-dried hair into a messy bun and slipped on the clothes.