The main part of Arawn’s lair, it turned out, stretched out for what seemed like miles underground. Maeve followed Lucía and the new bane of her existence through tunnels upon tunnels and cavernous rooms and along galleries above yawning chasms, the bottom of which she couldn’t make out in the dark. She suspected half of the trip through this subterranean sprawl was solely intended to intimidate her.

And it grated on her that he succeeded.

Merle had told her about her visits to Arawn’s territory for the magic she worked for him, but from what Maeve gleaned of those tales, she could say with certainty that Merle and the others didn’t have the slightest idea of how much power and influence and sheer number of forces Arawn truly had at his disposal. They still underestimated him—all but Alek, maybe. He didn’t talk much about it, but he had to know.

One lengthy trip through his underground dominion was enough to give Maeve a more realistic notion as to the power and authority Arawn commanded. The range of his lands alone was impressive. More so, however, was the deference and submission with which his subjects greeted him. Beings would bow low, some of them even prostrating themselves before him, and none of them would meet his eyes. They spoke in soft tones, humble murmurs, the air itself hushing wherever he went.

And it drove home just how out of line she had been with the way she talked to him in the Grove, compared to the way his people treated him. She understood now why Warrick was so pale when she spoke to Arawn with an air of defiance. Because no one else here did. Ever.

She clenched her jaw. Well, she had no intention of groveling before him. She’d be respectful, but if he expected her to bend the knee and kiss his feet and whisper, “My lord,” then he had another think coming. Certain parts of her…had not been broken during those dark days in the warehouse, so much as they’d been reinforced. Certain things…she would never do.

Not for him. Not for anyone.

The bare, earthen walls of the wide tunnel they were in changed as they went ahead, became roughcast and more civilized-looking. Fireflies still danced in the air, but they weren’t the only illumination anymore. Crystals set in the walls glowed and bathed the hallway in soft, warm light, and here and there even beams of sunlight peeked through skylights that, at closer look, turned out to be vents that channeled the light through however many angled mirrors down from the real skylight in the surface.

Her eyes tracked to Arawn walking in front of her—Lucía was at her side—to the way his powerful frame moved with sinuous grace…far more grace than someone of his massive build should possess. It should have been a contradiction in and of itself, and yet…it fit. Like a tiger that, despite its bulging muscles and hulking form, still flowed with feline elegance.

And she couldn’t wrench her eyes off him.

Off the firmness of his backside, the broad shoulders and the corded forearms dusted with dark hair. Off the muscles flexing in his legs as he walked.

His magic was a steady beat of power inside her. Different from how the link to Merle had felt. So different. Darker, sensual, and…devastating. Because this constant reminder of his presence, his essence, made it so much harder to ignore the host of unbidden things she felt at the thought of him. Things she didn’t believe she could experience anymore after…

In the months since, her body had been numb. No spark of interest in any male. The mere thought of intimacy terrified her. It continued that way for quite a while, and she almost resigned herself to never feeling desire again.

Until he showed up at the Murray mansion where she stayed. Oh, he was subtle, hiding mostly in the shadows, but every now and then…she saw him. Without a doubt because he let her see him. And of all the males to which her body could have the reaction she was yearning for, it had to be him. Like some cruel twist of fate.

She should be scared of him. Not…feel heat prickling in places she’d barely begun to reclaim with her own touch.

Closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head. She had to be more messed up than everybody thought.

Arawn stopped in front of a door and swung it open, gesturing inside. “Your room.”

She had to walk right by him to get in there, so close that his body heat brushed her like a caress. Goosebumps rose on her arms…and tightened her nipples.

Gods, just kill me now. It would be a mercy.

This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t react to him this way. Anyone but him.

Her cheeks and ears burned, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest as she assessed the room. Bigger than the one she’d occupied at the Murray mansion, and that was saying something. Like most of the rooms she’d seen so far in this underground lair, this one, too, had curving walls featuring tree roots that were decorative in their pattern, swirling in artful whorls that defied natural development. A huge bed with a frame carved from dark wood stood against the far wall, an armoire took up another one, and the wall to her right had a door leading to what she presumed was an en suite bathroom. Crystals glowed in the walls.

No windows.

The air rushed out of her. A room with no windows. Her heart raced. Dread curdled in her belly, like a fizzy tablet of fear had been dropped into her stomach and now quickly dissolved and poisoned her.

“Is there a problem?”

The deep bass of Arawn’s voice barely reached her over the thumping of her own heart. She curled her hands to fists, hugged herself tighter, and managed to look away from those windowless walls threatening to close in around her.

Lucía was staring at her with a glint in her eyes Maeve knew all too well. She’d seen it countless times on Merle, on Lily, Hazel, Basil, Rhun, and every other damn person who was privy to her ordeal. Every time Maeve so much as trembled, they’d get that look.

Pity.

For what she’d been through. For how broken she was. For all the things she couldn’t do anymore—like sleep in a room without windows—because it reminded her too much of that one in the warehouse, where the only light had been a lone bulb swinging above her bed, and it felt like she might as well have been buried six feet under for how removed it was from the world.

She was shaking now. Sweating. That fizzy tablet in her stomach foamed and wanted to spill over into the rest of her body.

“Would you like another room?” Arawn’s voice was rough silk over her senses.

She opened her mouth to say yes. Closed it again. Swallowed. Fought the dizziness creeping up on her. She should just tell him.

But then he’d know exactly how fractured she really was. How crazy. He’d smile at her weakness, wouldn’t he? Or worse…he’d pity her, too. She couldn’t even look at him. Didn’t want to know whether his face of harsh angles and rough beauty bore the same expression that greeted her on others whenever she stumbled while trying to navigate the wounds in her mind and body.

It’s just a room, godsdammit.

Her blood heated, and she pressed her lips together, breathing in through her nose. She was sick and tired of pity, of being coddled and treated like a cracked vase that could shatter at the slightest vibration. Sick and tired of being controlled by her fear, and like hell would she let Arawn see her this weak.

Anger. Anger was good. It helped push back the panic beating under her skin. Helped her clear her throat and say, “No. This is just fine.”

Lucía frowned and stirred as if to speak, but Arawn made a subtle gesture, and she held her tongue.

“Good,” Arawn said. “Take today to rest and explore, if you wish, and tomorrow we will start looking into the spell binding your magic. If you need anything, ask Lucía and she will make sure you receive it. She will stay close to you.”

“I’m free to…explore?” She raised a brow.

The smile sneaking onto his face was positively feline. “My secrets keep themselves. Wander around however you please, as long as Lucía is with you.”

He turned to leave.

“There’s one thing,” Maeve said, her voice wavering over her thundering heartbeat.

Arawn halted, dark power whispering about his shoulders.

“I had a duffel bag. But I had to leave it at the lake when we came here. Is it possible to—”

“Look in the bathroom,” he said, and walked out.

Maeve blinked, then padded over to the en suite room which indeed featured a fully modern bath. And her duffel bag sat on the counter.

“Gods, he can be so dramatic,” Lucía sighed from the doorway.

Maeve turned to her. “How…?” She gestured at the duffel.

Lucía shrugged. “He’s telepathic, you know. Probably sent someone out to check the lake and bring back any luggage.”

“That’s…almost thoughtful.”

“He’s not a monster,” Lucía said quietly.

Maeve bit her tongue to hold back her reply. Instead she swallowed and said, “I’d like to take a shower and change.”

“Say no more.” Lucía smiled and held up her hands, backing away. “I’ll be in the room right next to yours, to your left. Knock if you want to take a walk later. Oh, and if you’re hungry, we’ll grab something to eat.”

The door clicked shut behind Lucía. Maeve waited a few seconds, then walked over to the door and locked it. She didn’t have any illusions about it keeping out Arawn or Lucía if they wished to enter, but still…

She rushed to the duffel bag, zipped it open and rummaged through it until she found her cell phone. Yes. Her heart fell when she turned it on—no reception. Of course. Would have been too easy to be able to send a text or make a quick call. The display showed what the phone received before the signal was cut off—several missed calls and text messages, from Merle, Lily, and Anjali. Her best friend had also texted her back in response to the message Maeve sent her right before they stopped at the lake.

Maeve had said her goodbye to Anjali in that message, like she did to the others in the note she left at the Murrays, not knowing what awaited her once she went to Arawn’s. Maybe that was a bit fatalistic in retrospect, but she honestly couldn’t have known the Demon Lord would treat her with anything akin to civility.

In any case, Anjali’s response was a many-worded “don’t you dare do that, Maeve MacKenna,” just as Maeve expected. Which was why she sent a text instead of calling. Any protest and well-intentioned guilt-tripping would have only made her departure harder. But it wouldn’t have kept her from going.

Well, even though she was still in one piece and surprisingly free to move, she had no means to contact Merle and the others to let them know. They had to be going crazy with worry about her well-being. Maybe she could ask Lucía for a way to get word to Merle. Unless she wasn’t allowed contact with the outside world…

It couldn’t hurt to ask. It was the least she could do to alleviate everybody’s fear and concern.

She turned the shower on and quickly stripped out of her half-dried clothes. Didn’t look in the mirror, didn’t glance down her body. Feeling those scars when she scrubbed herself clean—always fast and efficiently, not lingering on this body that had given her so much pain—was difficult enough. She didn’t need the additional visual reminder of an already indelible experience.

Not when she saw it reflected in the shock and pity on the faces of everyone she met.