I observed the next moments as a distant bystander. Streaming floodwater dragged my feet back as the Demons tugged me forward. Then the hallway opened into the cafeteria, and the sky gaped overhead. Lightning painted the wet wood white, and thunder rattled the metal. Floodwater swirled around the tabletops, rippled, and sprayed.

In the middle, a giant ship devoured the room. The wooden tables splintered and sagged beneath its weight. Occasionally, a current of water rocked it off the tables, shifting the vessel like vegetables in a simmering pot.

Giant cloths folded along both sides and splayed out behind the ship, rippled and fringed like the wings of a moth—or the wings of a Demon.

I wasn't sure if it was the sight of this crushing vessel or the current of water that knocked me back a step. Whatever it was, the Demons flanking me gripped my arms tighter and jerked me upright. The Demon on my right side dug fingers into the claw puncture marks I had sustained earlier, and before the pain had even registered, a cry escaped me.

Like a phantom nightmare, the High Demon Prince appeared before me. "Careful with him," he ordered in a low voice. "I don't want him further damaged."

Their jaws clenched in protest, but their heads drifted down, and they replied in an obedient unison. "Yes, High Prince."

The moment the words left their lips, Isalio—if that was even his name—vanished from sight.

Three Demons hopped onto the table and clambered up the ladder to board the ship. Then the two Demons gripping my arms dragged me up the ladder. I watched the ladder rungs pass in some distant haze. The Demons chained my cuffs to a metal bar in the back of the ship. Then the High Demon Prince swaggered onboard.

He folded his arms and leaned back against the railing nearest the ladder. Removed from the water and exposed to the sky, his pale, wet skin shone blindingly bright, a sharp contrast from his black clothing and hair. Still, he still didn't look like a monster. He looked much like the man whose head had fallen into my lap; the man whose lips had responded to mine with sweet hesitation.

Disarmingly, sickeningly human.

He tilted his head toward the Demon nearest the front of the ship, who cranked a metal lever. Four wings flapped open and beat against the air. The ship lurched free from the tables with a wet gluck, sending water rippling across the room. The ship careened from side to side as we gained momentum, and my stomach turned, threatening to dispel the burnt food my father had provided.

We shot up into the night sky.

The rest of the Demons joined us with a flutter of tattered wings. They hovered around the ship like moths flocking to a lantern, blotting out patches of the flickering sky. I watched two Demons collide, snarling and baring teeth claws in a game of dominance.

Only the High Prince remained in human form. Each time a Demon cast an uneasy glance in his direction, a hint of a smirk graced his too-human lips. With sparks dancing over his skin and eyes glowing, he needed no claws or wings.

I realized that I had no idea what this High Prince would do to me. Before, he had been attempting to seduce me or at least appear helpless. Now, he had nothing to hide and nothing to lose. Yet I felt no fear. A different feeling hooked claws deeper than the Demon's, siphoned the breath from my lungs, and consumed me.

Rage.

This Demon hadn't actually betrayed me—he had always been my enemy, and he had never even claimed otherwise. Yet somehow, he had whittled away my hatred and wormed his way into my heart. And knowing that he was fooling me all along, that he played me so easily, that I had cared about him...that cut as deeply as Borgal's betrayal.

He turned toward me.

I dropped my gaze to study the wooden floorboards in front of me. With my hands cuffed behind me and bolted to the floor, avoiding his eyes was the only form of resistance I could manage.

His footsteps approached. When his feet entered my line of vision, he stopped. I lifted my gaze just high enough to see his hands, which held a bandage and a glass jar. His slender fingers appeared just as beautiful and human-like as ever.

I should have ripped off every one of his fingernails.

He shifted the bandages to the hand with the jar and dipped his free hand into his pocket. What he produced was at once familiar and utterly baffling.

A rubber cuff.

What did he need that for? I was already restrained, and rubber had no special effect on a Guardian. Was this some kind of sick joke or twisted revenge?

He clicked the cuff over his own wrist.

I blinked, and my eyes darted to his face, but his steely expression gave away little. He strode past me, gait fast and jerky, and dropped down behind my back.

The bandages and bottle hit the ground, and his hand closed over the wrist of my injured arm. I hissed an exhale and flinched away, a knee-jerk reaction caused both by disgust and by surprise. When I had touched him before, his skin had been so cold.

Now, he was scorching hot.

He had gained that heat from feeding on Guardians. Apparently, my lifeforce was extra strong. When he sucked away my life, would he burn even hotter? Would he grow even more powerful?

"Don't touch me," I snarled.

I had pathetically little ability to act on the menace in my voice, but for some reason, he withdrew. Several seconds passed in silence, and when he finally spoke, his voice was strangely quiet.

"Demon claws have poison. If I don't treat your wound, you might lose your arm."

"And so?"

"And so, you'll have a significantly harder time slaughtering any more Demons."

"How many palace prisoners have killed any Demons? How many cows have become butchers?"

His jaw set with a clack of teeth. "You want to fight me on this? Fine, fight me all you want. I don't need your permission to touch you."

The reminder of my own helplessness socked me in the gut. How ridiculous for me to feign fierceness. I was cuffed and imprisoned on a flying ship full of Demons. This High Demon Prince had no reason to listen to me.

Fingers curled around my wrist once more, securing it in place, and liquid splashed cloth. Then the fabric brushed the claw punctures on my arm. The liquid trickled cold down my arm but sizzled against the wound. Even though I knew resistance was futile, I cried out and jerked away again.

The cloth disappeared, and he drew a slow breath. "If you hold still, this will hurt less."

His tone suggested he was imparting hard-won wisdom. Was this his advice for how to be a prisoner? Just lie down and take it. As if he would know from experience. What had he taken as a prisoner?

He'd taken my food; my blanket; my clothing.

Fury swelled in my chest, so potent that my hands strained the cuffs and tears pricked my eyes. If only I had slit his throat when I had the chance. Now I could only spit out venom.

"Fuck you."

It wasn't the smartest reply. At best, it would sap his patience and make him less gentle. And at worst...

I didn't even want to know what he could do to me at his worst.

His fingers tightened over my wrist, and I gritted my teeth in anticipation. But the cloth met my skin even more gently than before. Silently, carefully, he dabbed my arm, stopping several times to squeeze out more antiseptic.

Each time the antiseptic brushed a new place, a bolt of fire raced up my arm, wrenching a gasp from my lips. And each time, he stopped and waited for me to return to silence. After a few minutes, a soft cloth wrapped my arms, and nimble fingers pinned the fabric together.

Despite the poison boiling in my veins, some distant analytical part of my brain spun in circles of twisted logic. If he was being gentle, cows must have provided less lifeforce when in pain. If he was treating me himself, I must have been a particularly valuable cow. And if my lifeforce was so valuable to Demons, maybe the best way for me to help my team would be...

But even now, I couldn't bring myself to complete that thought.

The High Prince released my arm and circled around to my front, facing me. My skin itched from the weight of his eyes on me, but I refused to meet his gaze.

For several seconds, he just stood before me, silent and unmoving. Then, somewhere else on the ship, someone called, "High Prince?"

He ripped the rubber cuff off his wrist, stuffed it in his pocket, and spun around on one foot. His dress shoes clicked the ground from heel to toe as he strode away, and his cold voice cut through the thunder and rain. Lightning flashed, illuminating the sharp lines of his shoulders and the glossy waves of black hair.

I was reminded of Kardki's warning: he's too powerful, Brother Remgar...we can't fight him. I couldn't help thinking that she was right. He was immune to the dangers of the world—or maybe he was even controlling them. The thunder echoed his words, the rain battered the deck in time with his footsteps, and the lightning mimicked the swing of his arms.

Fear plunged cold into my stomach, mingling with the fury in a toxic brew. Who was this monster I now belonged to?

And why was I so important to the Demon who owned the night sky?