His grip tightens. “Are we heading to the dungeon?” He angles his head, one brow lifting. “Or do you need the toilet?”

I want to say neither, but I shake my head and grit out, “I’m fine,” before letting him lead me out of the House of Capricorn.

The air crackles with mounting fear as we descend into the bowels of this hellish tower. At the bottom of the stairs, the iron gate is unlocked, its metal bars gaping like the jaws of a beast, salivating over its next sacrifice.

Oliver urges me forward, each step ushering in dread. The space is stale from aged leather and rusting iron, the echoes of past suffering gnashing their teeth in the shadows.

Memories soak me, vivid and ice-cold, and I’m back in time, my fingers curling around the bars of a cage while Pax chains Sebastian to the ceiling. His brutal whip cracks through the utter quiet, relentless, too many times to count. Then…

A grunt of pain.

Blood dripping down his welted back.

Horrified stares from half the men surrounding him.

I squeeze my eyes shut until the images fade, but reality doesn’t shift. I’m still in the dungeon, trapped in a new month, forced into another terrorizing visit to the place where I had no choice but to watch the love of my life hang in those shackles, his spirit breaking in front of me.

Now, it looks like I’m the one who’s going to break.

Too many men crowd the space, but all I see is Pax, arms folded over his broad chest as he lounges beside the St. Andrew’s cross. That relaxed stance is a lie, because his soulless eyes promise nothing but pain.

Before I can draw a full breath, he moves.

A nightmare stalking closer.

Heavy boots thudding with purpose.

Then a hand clamps around my wrist.

12

Pax drags me through the fray, straight for the towering X on the wall, with its medieval shackles poised to claim its next victim. The dungeon churns with movement, voices clashing for dominance, and that’s when I notice the fracture.

The men are split into two distinct groups.

Allies to the left.

Villains to the right.

Before Pax reaches the wooden planks, Liam steps in front of him, nostrils flaring, hatred boiling under the surface.

“Let her go.” His voice is low, simmering with the kind of fury that wants to combust. Hands curling into fists, he grinds his teeth so hard I half expect them to crack. Vance, Landon, Ford, and Hugo flank him, sensing the ticking bomb that is the chancellor.

“Everyone, calm down.” Liam’s father joins the group as two more legacy members crowd in, blocking the space between Oliver and me.

And that’s when it happens.