Chapter 2

I kicked out wildly as they dragged me from the transport truck. My boot connected hard with a heavy jaw.

Someone cursed. A massive hand grabbed my hair, hauling me backward.

The freezing wind of the Adirondack mountains vanished instantly. We descended into a pitch-black underground stairwell. The suffocating, chemical stench of industrial bleach and rotting iron flooded my sinuses.

A heavy steel door opened, and they threw me inside.

My spine slammed against a freezing metal operating table. I thrashed wildly, twisting my shoulders to roll off the edge. Heavy hands pinned me down.

Thick steel cuffs snapped entirely shut over my wrists and ankles, locking me spread-eagle to the metal grid. I yanked my arms up with everything I had. The steel bit directly into my skin, tearing the top layer of flesh.

A blinding surgical halogen light clicked on above my face.

Julian stood at the foot of the table.

He slowly wiped his pristine hands with a wet cloth, looking down at my fighting body. The gentle philanthropist was gone entirely.

Next to him stood a giant of a man, pushing seven feet tall. The man wore a thick, yellow rubber butcher’s apron coated in oxidized, brown bloodstains.

Julian reached forward and ripped the broad medical tape off my mouth.

"Julian! Please!" I screamed, pulling violently at the chains. "The antique is real! Take it! Take whatever you want!"

Julian didn't flinch. He didn't even look at my face.

"No anesthesia," Julian said to the massive butcher beside him. "The Russian buyer pays a premium for the preservation of fear. The muscles need to be completely tense when the embalming fluid hits the heart."

"Julian, look at me!" I sobbed, thrashing against the metal.

Julian finally met my eyes, a cold smirk pulling at his lips.

"Keep the blade away from her face, Artisan," Julian instructed carefully. "That bone structure alone is worth two million dollars. If you scratch the canvas, I’m taking it out of your cut."

"Understood, boss." The Artisan grunted, his voice a wet rumble.

"I'll be upstairs confirming the wire transfer." Julian tossed the wet cloth into a bin. He turned on his heel and walked out.

The heavy iron door slammed shut behind him. The dead bolt clicked, locking us in.

The Artisan chuckled. He wheeled a metal tray toward my table. Rusted bone saws. Scalpels. A massive glass cylinder filled with clear, viscous preservation fluid.

"You want to make the crying last, sweetheart," the Artisan said, picking up a stained rag to wipe a scalpel.

Blood trickled down my wrists from fighting the steel cuffs. But the external pain was nothing compared to the agony tearing through my internal organs.

The fox fire had hit its absolute limit.

My stomach didn't just cramp; it was eating itself. The blue sparks flared violently beneath the skin of my chest, threatening to burst outward and incinerate my own heart.

The Artisan walked to a massive steel grate set into the concrete floor.

"Last month's piece, the little blonde? I took three hours to drain her." He kicked the grate with his heavy rubber boot. "She fought just like you. Tore her own vocal cords. The ones who die too fast? I melt them in acid. Wash them right down this drain."

He turned back to the tray and picked up the massive steel syringe. It ended in a six-inch hollow needle.

"You're number sixteen."

The Artisan stepped right up to the table. He leaned his massive weight over me, smelling like raw meat and chewing tobacco.

"This goes straight into the base of the spine."

He grabbed my shoulder with a colossal hand, preparing to forcefully roll my pinned body over.

"No—no, wait—" I choked out, gasping desperately for breath.

His thick fingers dug into my flesh.

My struggling stopped completely.

In a single second, the desperate, crying human girl vanished off my face. An eerie, dead stillness took its place.

The Artisan frowned, pausing his grip.

A sharp, searing hiss echoed in the cold room.

The steel cuffs locked around my wrists began to glow a dull orange. Then, in the blink of an eye, they shifted to a blinding, blistering white. The metal warped, bubbled, and melted away from the bone.

The heavy steel chains snapped.

"What the fuck?" The Artisan stumbled backward, dropping the syringe. It shattered against the tiles, spilling toxic fluid everywhere. He reached blindly toward his belt for a skinning knife.

I sat up on the table.

I looked at him.

The dark brown in my eyes shattered like glass. Liquid gold flooded my sclera, splitting right down the center into sharp, vertical reptilian slits.

The surgical halogen lights above us violently overloaded. The bulbs burst in a shower of white sparks, plunging the room into darkness.

The emergency red backups flickered on, casting a heavy blood-red wash across the concrete.

Against the wall behind me, my shadow detached from my body. It stretched toward the ceiling, tearing outward into nine separate, towering tails of absolute darkness.

The agonizing burn in my chest ripped up my throat.

I opened my jaw and unleashed a plume of pure, ghost-blue fox fire.

The flames didn't burn his rubber apron. They shot straight into his wide, terrified eyes, anchoring deep into his soul. His obsession. His cruelty. A rotten, blackened mass of pure sin.

I pulled it forcefully out of him.

And I swallowed.

The heat washed over my shivering nerves like liquid silk. The starvation vanished, completely obliterated by a rush of devastating, intoxicating power.

The Artisan’s massive body went completely rigid.

His knees hit the ground with a heavy thud. His torso tipped forward, smashing face-first into the tiles. Not a single drop of blood spilled. His eyes were wide open, milky, and entirely hollow. The brain inside was wiped clean. An empty shell of meat.

I wiped a speck of ash from my lower lip. Flawless skin knitted back over my wrists where the cuffs had cut me.

A heavy crash echoed from the hallway outside.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs.

"Artisan!"

Julian's voice was muffled behind the heavy steel door, but the panic in his tone was sharp.

The heavy iron doorknob rattled violently.

"What was that noise?" Julian yelled, kicking the bottom of the door. "If you damage my art, I’ll skin you alive! Open this door right now!"