Anya Bast - Witch Blood

“Tell me what an Atrika is,” she said, finally. She needed some answers. Any answers.

Not turning toward her, he clasped his hands at the small of his back and glanced down as he answered. The gesture was so much like Thomas that a lump formed in her throat. “You know this already.”

“ I do not .” Her voice sounded low, cold and commanding. It was pure, unadulterated rage that made it that way. It filled the room like a general’s might.

He turned to face her, anger on his face. “ Etaryi! ” He snapped out the word like a curse. “They are one breed of daaeman !”

She rubbed her wrists, where the skin had been bruised from the rope. Her hands were shaking. “There are different breeds?”

“There are four. Each have different characteristics. The Atrika are the most bloodthirsty, the most violent. They are illegal here. We hunt them down and imprison or kill them.”

She looked up. “Demons so bad you had to exterminate an entire breed? Is that why you locked out Ashe?”

He stared stormily at her and she thought he wouldn’t reply. Then he paced away and said, “Since the wars have ended and their services as soldiers are no longer needed, the Atrika have organized into a mercenary group. He was their leader until we caught him and put him in prison for his atrocities.” He lifted his chin and sneered. “Then you foolhardy aeamon pulled him through.”

“Hey, we weren’t the foolhardy ones. The people who pulled Boyle through are like the Atrika in our world.”

Rue’s lips compressed into a firm line. His eyes glowed red, giving Isabelle momentary heart palpitations. “ If that is true, there could be an explanation. You know that aeamon are bred from us?”

“Yes.” She swallowed the unfortunately . It wasn’t a good idea to insult a seven-foot demon to his face.

He nodded. “It is possible there are aeamon who have inherited the Atrika genetic traits. They can be like children, always grasping and wanting. They care nothing for the suffering of others and are slaves to their own selfish whims.”

Inherited the Atrika genetic traits . Her mind reeled from that bit of information.

“What breed of demon are you?” she asked.

“ Ytrayi . Leader class. We have strong magick to call and overdeveloped aggression, like the Atrika . Unlike the Atrika , we have the restraint and control to manage it. We have…honor.”

This was all very interesting, but Isabelle had a far more pressing matter at the forefront of her mind. “So you understand that Thomas and I are not these people, right? We don’t want to ever deal with an Atrika again. We’re sorry we were pulled through the doorway, and, really, we just want to go home.”

“This cannot be allowed.” He turned once more, placidly hooking his hands at the small of his back and staring out the window.

Darn, and she thought they’d been making friends.

While his back was turned, Isabelle worked the rest of the knots around her ankles. Just as she was about to ease from the couch and pick up a long piece of jagged scarlet-colored crystal from a nearby table — a bit of artwork, she assumed — and bash him over his head, he turned to face her. “I should kill you now, but we may have need of you.”

“Wait a minute!” Her mouth went dry. “We don’t want to conspire against you or harm you in any way.” Like they could . “My friend and I just want to go home. Please.”

Talking to the piece of artwork she’d fantasized about whacking him over the head with would have had more impact. He strode past her and out the door. The lock turned on the other side, seeming to echo through the room.

Isabelle sagged against the couch in defeat, fighting a swell of nausea from being in a locked room. She drew a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Now was no time for a panic attack. She pictured Thomas here in the room with her and her anxiety eased. Isabelle opened her eyes, steadier now.

But where was Thomas really? Had they left him to bleed out somewhere in this building? Had they decapitated him like they had Boyle? Nausea threatened once more.

She took slow, deep breaths in through her nose and out her mouth. The demon had said they might need her. Logic said the same would be true for Thomas. Likely they hadn’t killed him…yet.

With short, jerky movements, she pulled the rest of the rope around her ankles free and hurled it across the room with a bellow of pure frustration. That task accomplished, she slid from the couch and grabbed the heavy crystal sculpture from the table near her. Hugging it to her chest, she prowled the room, looking for a way out.

THOMAS WOKE WITH THE STENCH OF DEMON MAGick in his nostrils and his cheek against something hard and cold. He pushed up, grit digging into his palms, and groaned at the pain shooting through his thigh.

When his eyes flickered open he glimpsed the interior of what seemed to be a cell in the dim light. An iron door with bars at the top. Concrete floor and walls. Ratty, folded-up blanket to serve as a bed.

He raised magick, power flickering over his tattoo and down his arms, tingling the base of his skull. It came weak and sluggish because of his injuries, even in this place where his magick was more powerful. All the same, the pavement near his head pulsed as he manipulated it.

Good. This place wasn’t like Gribben.

A footstep sounded to his left. That’s all the warning he got. A booted foot struck his injured side and Thomas’s world went white hot with pain. He grunted, nearly tossed his cookies, and held onto consciousness with every last shred of willpower he possessed. Unconsciousness now could very well mean his death.

“We have your female,” came a heavily accented voice. “If you cooperate, we will not hurt her.”

Isabelle. Shit .

Thomas forced himself to turn over onto his stomach, agony spearing down his thigh and through his middle. At least that pain wasn’t a quarter as bad as when the speaker had kicked him. He forced himself to focus upward, seeing a blond man staring down at him. “What do you want from us?”

“Why have you come to ally with the Atrika ?”

He frowned. “The what?”

“Your female tried also to feign ignorance, but we know that’s why you’ve come. That’s the only reason any aeamon comes here.”

His mind whirled at the influx of information. Did that mean witches had come here before? No, warlocks, most likely. Not witches. Had they achieved it?

Thomas’s vision blurred. He blinked and the demon came back into focus. “We came here accidentally. When we fought Boyle with copper, the spell he was cooking to open a doorway became unstable. We were caught in the maelstrom.” He drew an unsteady breath, feeling lightheaded. “There is no attempt on our part to ally with any Atrika .” Whatever the hell that was.

The demon took three menacing steps forward, his boots crunching on the grit of the floor. “Do you think we don’t understand your goals? You forced the demon to open the doorway and then tried to kill him once you had no more need of him.”

If Thomas had not been bleeding to death and at the mercy of a seven foot demon in an alien world, he would have laughed. “You think we forced Erasmus Boyle to bring us here? You actually think us capable of that? We just spent the last three weeks trying to stop Boyle from doing whatever he wanted.”

“Ashe, this demon you know as Boyle, would never have returned willingly. He knew we would track and kill him as soon as he set foot on our soil again.”