Page 81 of Property of Crypt Keeper

Nothing. The metal held. Pain flared through my wrists. Still, I tested it harder. The walls hummed. Magic slammed into me like a fist. My knees buckled, but the restraints held me upright.

“Impressive,” a voice murmured from the dark.

I went still as I tried to ascertain the direction it was coming from.

Footsteps approached. Calm. Measured. He stepped into view, and somehow I knew who he was.

He was exactly what I expected and worse. Not monstrous, nor dramatic. Not some snarling demon with horns and smoke curling off his skin.

He looked highly controlled. Refined. Dark hair. Cold eyes. Expensive coat. The kind of man who didn’t raise his voice because everyone around him had already learned to pay attention.

Just looking at him pissed me off.

“You recover faster than expected,” he explained, not confirming my suspicions.

My lip curled. “Come closer and I’ll show you what else I do fast.”

A faint smile curved his lips. “Still spirited. I like that.”

My wolf lunged against my skin, but there was no way for me to shift. Not with the collar burning against me from whatever magic was embedded in the silver lining. I clenched my jaw until bone creaked. Rafael watched the reaction like he was studying weather patterns.

“You weren’t supposed to find the tunnel yet,” he continued. “That was extremely inconvenient.”

“Sorry to ruin your schedule,” I retorted with a sneer.

His smile deepened slightly. “You didn’t ruin it. You simply accelerated it.”

That wasn’t exactly better.

He stepped closer, stopping just outside the reach of my restrained hands. Smart bastard.

“Rafael, I presume?” I questioned with a smirk.

“You know who I am,” he confirmed.

“Obviously,” I drawled.

His eyes flickered. “Then she told you.”

She. Katalina. My chest tightened before I could stop it.

Rafael noticed. Of course he did. His gaze sharpened. “Ahh, there it is.”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Didn’t give him a damn thing.

He came closer anyway, gaze sweeping over my chest, my shoulders, my throat. Not like an enemy. Like an investor inspecting a property he was thinking of purchasing.

“You are far more valuable than I was initially led to believe,” he admitted, sounding a bit surprised.

I laughed once, low and ugly, without an ounce of humor. “People keep saying shit like that to me lately.”

“That is because very few understand what you are,” he flippantly replied.

“I’m getting tired of people pretending they do,” I shot back, wanting more than anything to break free and rip his throat out.

Rafael’s expression didn’t change.

“No,” he softly corrected. “You’re getting tired because some part of you suspects they’re right.”