The nausea was fading. Grateful, Rayne let her head fall as Korac led the way into a chamber she did not care to see. One minute her nerve endings lit her on fire; the next she felt absolutely nothing.

The same outfit from Rayne’s dreams left her further exposed and vulnerable in reality. Her left arm dangled at her side. Her right was too exhausted to hold the useless appendage against her. The weight of the day’s events dragged her down. Oblivion awaited her. With her heart and soul bruised, she welcomed the peace it offered.

For a time.

Nothingness as Rayne recovered. Flames when she finished. Yes, she was fantasizing many creative ideas for restitution.

Nox waited at the opening. Fortunately, he’d found pants. Unfortunately, his eyes raked over her clothes until he met hers again with a look which said he was ready for round two.

When Nox spoke, Rayne willed her eyes to blaze at him. Witness the fury that he’d wrought. He said, “Welcome to your new home.” The finality of his tone dampened the fire a bit.

Around the corner was a massive square room like the one in Xelan’s home. Any thought of Xelan squeezed Rayne’s heart.

Breathe. Don’t cry.

The cavern spanned miles above them and opened up to the sky. The base of the rock chamber secreted a black lake. With her vision blurring, Rayne shook her head.

Her mind didn’t like this. Something was wrong with the middle of the lake.

As Rayne stared at it, Nox grasped her good arm. An object floated in the water. It was a glass box in the center. Korac gripped her bad arm. They let her soak it in. She swallowed against her sore throat as their vigilance took an effect on her heart rate.

A moment of lucidity cleared the drugs from Rayne’s system, and she understood everything.

It was a rectangular prism made of nacre glass with gold pounded along the edges. It resembled the Pretiosum Cruor vessel. Thin, metal cylinders lined the bottom of the prism, about thirty centimeters from the top and one meter from the bottom. Plumbing bordered the top of it before vanishing into the lake. The confine was perfectly sized for an eighteen-year-old girl.

Rayne tried to throw her good elbow and spin away at the same time. She did not survive everything so far for them to lock her into a permanent prison. They predicted her volley and expertly restrained her thrashing exercise in futility.

Soundlessly, Rayne snarled at Nox. He chuckled at her. Between the two of them, they lifted her bodily from the ground. She kicked and hissed. Opened her mouth to scream, scraping her throat raw with no result.

Korac grappled Rayne’s feet, and Nox took her arms. With ease, they carried her down the ramp despite her best attempts to struggle.

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For one fleeting moment, Rayne caught Korac’s eyes. At least he didn’t look happy, but he was useless to her as an ally.

To Rayne’s horror, an invisible skid like the ones in Enki transported them from the lake’s shore to the centerpiece. She’d run out of time.

“Befitting you, I named it the Martyr Complex.” The satisfaction in Nox’s silken baritone sickened Rayne. The gleam in his obsidian eyes terrified her.

Rayne lost control of her breathing and heaved like a cornered animal. Unable to scream, unable to fight, tears streamed from her eyes, shaming her earlier resolution to remain strong.

But today had asked too much of Rayne. She couldn’t bear the horrors of it any longer. Locking her inside that box would take away any power left to her.

As a last resort, Rayne looked at Nox and pleaded to him with her eyes. Don’t. Do. This.

Nox gave her a slow shake of the head, loaded with grim finality. No mercy here.

Tears pouring, lungs panting, Rayne tensed when Nox and Korac lifted her up and over the edge, then lowered her into the box. She peered around the inside. Centered in the lake granted the illusion of being swallowed alive. She’d never wanted to scream more in her life. That was until Korac pressed a button and nacre glass formed over her ankle. God, no.

As the General set about his work, Nox told Rayne his version of a bedtime story. “We built this for Celindria a very long time ago. We hope you appreciate the intricacies of its design.”

Rayne jerked involuntarily, an unfamiliar panic forcing her body to lash out. With her good arm and legs trapped, her struggles amounted to nothing.

“I’ll get the last.” Nox dismissed Korac as he continued, “Colita volunteered for a trial run, but she proved incompatible with the device. She died a painful death inside. It needs richer blood. Drained her dry.” He waved at the device. “We designed it to hold enough to sustain itself a few days without you, so I might remove you and return you as I see fit.” He brushed his knuckles against the branding scar on her cheek. “I look forward to many future instructions with you, Rayne.”

Murderer. Bastard. Monster.

Rayne grabbed Nox’s arm and squeezed with her nails dug in. Never in a dream—certainly never in reality—had she seen him show even an ounce of fear.

Until now.

This eighteen-year-old badass clutched this millions-year-old tyrant’s arm tight with her left hand. She wouldn’t let the rehabilitation of the limb and its reconstitution distract her. As Nox stared open-mouthed into Rayne’s eyes, she poured every ounce of fury into the bleeding grip and fate rewarded her efforts with a snap.

To Rayne’s dismay, breaking Nox’s arm interrupted his rapture with a snarl. Without further hesitation, he lowered her and secured her once-decimated arm.

With fire burning in Rayne’s eyes so bright she felt steam rise, Nox pressed the last button, and a collar strapped her down the last of the way. She glowered at him, unable to speak, but hopefully still able to communicate her rage. Even as the lid closed, she kept her gaze on him.

Nox saw.

With a whirring sound, the terror returned, and Rayne braced herself for what she feared came next.

The thin cylinders drew closer, rising and spinning. Sure now of what Rayne had glimpsed, she waited for the thin, razor-sharp golden edges to find their mark. Six across, nine down, they drilled into her back, tearing into skin and muscle.

Rayne screamed a ragged hush of soundless air. The vibration from the machine shuddered her bones from head to toe. Blood welled and pooled into the basin. It filled up fast.

It was more blood than Rayne’s body had contained, more blood than she’d ever seen in her life. It covered her ankles first. The involuntary panic set in, and Rayne thrashed against the invulnerable material.

They’d given her no way to breathe. Would Rayne drown in her own blood? She panted and jerked. Still, the drilling continued. Liters of her own blood soaked her hair, seeped into her ears, and rose to her nose. Like a cold vaccination, bruising fluid pumped into her back from the cylinders.

After one feral, throat-wrenching shriek, the darkness came and took Rayne away.