The light slashed pain through her skull, and she winced, closing her eyes. She took in several deep breaths and exhaled, trying to calm her galloping heart. She opened her eyelids enough to let a little light inside. Then, taking her time, she slowly opened them all the way. A deep purple carpet covered the floor and matched the bedding. A feminine dresser and end tables were set in the room. Two doorways led to a walk-in closet and fully appointed bath, also in purple.
An original oil painting by Juno Dungs above the bed added more vibrancy to the already colorful room. The walls had been painted a muted beige.
She quickly scoured through the dressers and only found lingerie, yoga pants, and some jeans. More clothes, probably in her size, filled the closet.
Damn it. There had to be something she could use to pick the lock.
Staggering only a little, she made it to the bathroom. Typical feminine makeup, all unused, filled the drawers. No bobby pins or nail files. Damn it.
She searched for a weapon but only found a black eyeliner. So she slid it up her sleeve just in case. Maybe she could use it to poke an eye out. She meandered back into the bedroom and crossed to examine the door.
As she reached it, the knob turned and it opened inward.
Ivan Bychkov stepped inside. “Felicity. It is so good to see you.”
She lost all reason. Yelling, she leaped across the foot separating them and slammed into him, jamming her elbow down on his collarbone. The cartilage cracked with a very satisfying crunch.
Using his uninjured side, he grabbed her arm, swinging her out and throwing. She spun through the air and landed on the bed, rolling off the other side. Pain lanced up her shoulder. She stood, grasping the bed covers for balance.
Ivan frowned and rubbed his collarbone. “Good lord, woman. You’re wilder now than you were a century ago.”
“Thank you,” she said, showing her teeth.
“That changes and now.” He stood about six-foot-six, long and lean, with stark white blond hair and purebred demon black eyes. To most women, he’d be handsome.
But she could see all of him, and real evil lived in him. “You know I’m going to kill you, right?” she spat.
His eyebrows were a light brown, and he drew them down. “I just don’t understand the hostility.”
She blinked. “Are you kidding?”
He sighed. “The drug we used will hamper you for a while, and according to my doctors, you need protein and sugar in your system. If you’d please come with me, we’ll get you fed.”
The guy was crazy. “Where’s my son?”
“He’s fine and is safely secured in the mine area of the mountain.” Bychkov rocked back on his heels. “The dizziness you’re experiencing can be quelled by a good meal.”
Okay. So her vision was a little blurry. “What did you drug me with?”
“A cocktail created by a friend of mine by altering normal tranquilizers.”
Damn witches and their potions. Of course, that’s exactly how she had drugged Daire. She winced. Man, would Daire be pissed that she’d been kidnapped. She stepped around the bed. “Fine. I’ll eat, and then I want to see my son.” At the very least, ingesting protein would help her regain her strength to take on Ivan. “Where am I, any—” She gasped upon entering the hallway.
Sparkling rock surrounded her, while a long carpet stretched over more rock. “We’re underground,” she breathed.
“Yes.”
That explained the quiet. “Where?” she asked, adrenaline heating down her back.
“On the island,” he said, pivoting on his boot and leading the way.
Her lungs seized. “On Fryser Island?”
“The one and only.” He clasped his hands at his back and strode past several closed doorways.
“We’re at the Sjenerøse mine,” she murmured, tripping and regaining her balance. “How did you get me here?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Once you were knocked out, I teleported you here, of course.”
Crap. She hadn’t thought of that. Sure, a majority of demons could teleport, but she hadn’t counted on being squired a world away from home. “I can’t teleport.”
“I know.” He sighed, stopping in front of a silver-plated elevator and pushing a button.
She hovered near the wall and planted her hand over the sparkles. Many minerals glowed, but a shiny greenish pink one held promise. Obviously not silver or coal. “Is this planekite?” she asked.
“Yes.” The elevator door swished open and he stood back, gesturing her inside.
The mineral felt cold and innocuous. It was hard to imagine that something so pretty could actually kill an enforcer with Daire’s strength. Even walking down the hallway would weaken him and subdue his powers.
Which led to another problem. She turned and stepped into the elevator. “Isn’t this mine only accessible by parachuting in?” Her stomach dropped.
“And teleporting,” Ivan said, following her and pressing a button near the top. “Every man I have working here has the ability to teleport in and out, just in case of mine failure or attack.”
Futility slammed into her stomach. Neither she nor Logan could teleport. Hopefully Logan would someday gain the ability; he was young yet. But she’d never have it, and now the only way out of the mining area for them was to climb down a series of frozen mountain slopes to the arctic tundra miles away. They’d face many predators, and she had no interest in going up against wild polar bears ever again.
Ivan cleared his throat. “By the way, we have all the surrounding area covered with land mines. Anybody trying to leave here by any way other than teleporting will be blown into tiny pieces even a witch couldn’t put back together.”
The Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme trilled through her head. There had to be a place for a helicopter to land.
“We’re covered by trees with no cleared space,” Ivan continued as if slapping away each idea that occurred to her. “Any clearing big enough for a helicopter is fully planted with explosives.” His voice remained matter of fact and almost cheerful.
Felicity kept her face stoic. Her only chance was to somehow get word to Zane as to where they were, so he could teleport in and get Logan out of there. But first she had to find Logan.
The elevator door opened, and bright light cut inside. She blinked several times and followed Ivan into an opulent dining room with full floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over a cliff. The world outside was blue and white. Blue sky, blue condensed ice, and white ground with white covering the trees. Sunshine sparkled off particles in the ice, glittering and cold.
“This is so weird,” she muttered, stomping forward to take one of the two seats at the table decorated with fine red linens and sterling silver accents.
Ivan reached for a bottle of 1973 Richebourg and poured them each a glass. “A nice Pinot Noir for lunch,” he said as the red wine filled their glasses. Then he sat across from her.
A waiter, impeccably dressed in a white uniform, entered from a side room and quickly deposited soup in front of them. The fragrant scent wafted up, and Felicity’s stomach growled. There was only a soup spoon on the table, but the candlesticks appeared to be pure silver. While they were elegantly shaped with no sharp points, she could still use them. Blunt force trauma to the temple might take down Ivan.
He sipped his wine. “Eat up so we can get you healthy.”
She frowned, the spoon halfway to her mouth. “Why do you care so much about my health?”
He swirled the wine in the glass and watched the play of light. “My doctors have informed me that we can’t inject you with the mutated Virus-Twenty-Seven until all of the current drug is out of your system.”
She dropped her spoon. “You have vials of the mutated virus?”
“Yes. The queen doesn’t believe in proprietary information and made the concoction available to the world at large.” He smiled. “It didn’t take much of an effort to find a clinic and buy samples. Of course, the queen also sent very strong directions that the samples were for research purposes only.”