Chapter 92: Poison

The fire’s crackle turned mocking then, popping and hissing like a crowd of invisible hecklers jeering at my impending doom.

I tried to take a step forward, but gravity, that eternal bastard, yanked me down hard. I landed flat on my face, the cold stone meeting my cheek like a lover’s slap gone wrong. Dust and grit filled my mouth, tasting of earth and regret.

My mind spiraled into a panic that felt like a whirlwind in a teacup—chaotic, confined, and utterly pointless. Oh gods, not now, I thought, my inner voice shrieking like a banshee at a funeral, why did I have to play the hero when my legs decided to stage a mutiny?

The paralysis crept in like an uninvited guest at a wake, starting from my toes and slithering up my limbs with the subtlety of a snake oil salesman peddling eternal youth.

I couldn’t move my arms, couldn’t even twitch a finger to flip off the universe for this cosmic joke. My body lay there, a limp sack of flesh and bones, while my brain fired off alarms like fireworks in a thunderstorm.

Saints above, we’d guzzled those flasks like idiots at a free bar, and now here I was, face-planted on the floor, contemplating the irony of surviving tunnels and monsters only to be felled by a sip of “liquid courage.”

One by one, the other men collapsed around the fire, their bodies folding like cheap cards in a rigged game.

Brutus went down with a thud that shook the ground. Renly crumpled mid-strum, his lute clattering to the floor with a final, discordant twang that sounded like the universe’s last laugh. Dregan, poor old Dregan, foamed at the mouth in waves, bubbles spilling from his lips like overzealous ale froth.

His eyes rolled back as if even in death he was judging my life choices. Gods, if this is how we go out, at least make it quick, I mused, my panic laced with a dark chuckle, because nothing says “epic adventure” like drooling your way to the afterlife.

I strained to crane my neck, every muscle protesting my movements, just in time to catch sight of Victor perched on a boulder across the fire. He palmed something small and glinting in his hand, his fingers curling around it like a miser hoarding his last coin.

Of course,the slimy bastard, I thought, we’d let him slither back into our midst like a snake returning to its favorite basket.

We should’ve never accepted those drinks; we’d been far too lax, too trusting, like lambs inviting the wolf to dinner and handing him the carving knife. How did I miss it? I berated myself, thoughts swirling in a vortex of self-loathing, the warmth of the fire now feeling like accusatory fingers pointing at my naivety.

“Two betrayals in a row,” I croaked out, my voice slurred and witty despite the darkness nibbling at the edges of my mind. “First the Boss stabs us in the back, now you spike our drinks—starting to think I have a type: treacherous assholes with a flair for dramatics.” The words tumbled out weak but sharp, a last-ditch effort to sting before the void swallowed me whole.

Victor glanced over, his expression unchanging, and simply said, “Shut up.” There was no anger in his tone, no fire, just a flat command delivered like a bored executioner sharpening his axe.

His face wasn’t twisted in manic rage or gleeful triumph; it was set heavy, dark and brooding, like a storm cloud too weary to rain but still blocking the sun. Just then, a ragged yell pierced the air, raw and furious.

And then it hit me—Mia hadn’t taken the drink.

She shifted across the fire, her pants thankfully back on after our earlier spectacle. She took a single step forward, her body coiled like a spring ready to unleash hell. Victor didn’t even flinch;

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Mia froze still, her eyes narrowing to slits of pure fury, as Victor unpalmed the object—a blue-tinted vial that caught the firelight like a sapphire from a thief’s hoard.

“This,” he said, holding it up with a casual twirl, “is the antidote to the poison I laced your little party with.” His voice was calm, almost conversational. “If you take another step, I’ll shatter it.”

Mia’s face fumed with utter rage, her cheeks flushing red as embers, lips curling back in a snarl that made even me shudder from my prone position on the ground.

Victor stood with a lazy swagger, unfolding from the boulder like a cat stretching after a nap, and walked around the fire to circle Mia slowly.

His steps were deliberate, each one echoing softly against the stone, building the tension like a storyteller drawing out a punchline. Mia tracked him with her eyes, her body rigid, before finally spitting out, “Why?”

He paused in front of her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders, fingers kneading lightly as if massaging away the knots of betrayal. Strangled grunts escaped her throat, half-protest, half-unwilling relaxation. Victor’s expression remained solid, unyielding as a gravestone etched with forgotten names.

“Unlike that fool Magnus,” Victor began, his voice low and measured.

I blinked, piecing his words together, before realizing that he must have been referring to the Boss’s true name.

Victor continued. “I always planned to escape this cesspool, preferably without having to deal with these…animals,” Victor sneered, his voice dripping contempt as he gestured at the foaming bodies around us, “wallowing in their own filth, rutting and killing like pigs in a sty. It disgusts me.”

I wanted to retort, to spit back some witty barb about his own hands being far from clean, but my tongue lay heavy in my mouth, paralyzed like the rest of me.

“Better to poison the well than drink from it,” he continued, his tone flat and final.

Gods, the hypocrisy, I thought to myself, my mind raging even as my body betrayed me. He’s the one who wallowed deepest, scheming in the muck while pretending to rise above it.

But then his tone shifted, softening just a fraction as he turned his gaze back to Mia, his eyes glinting with something almost tender in the firelight.

“I’ve taken an interest in you, though,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent an unwilling shiver down my spine, “from the moment you seduced me back before I lost my empire—you remember that night, don’t you? The way you fucked me raw, straddling my cock like a bitch in heat.”

She glared at him, her lips curling in disgust, but he ignored it. His hands trailed higher instead, fingers brushing her neck before cupping her jaw with a gentleness that bordered on possession, like a collector cradling a rare gem.

“Even now, I adore the fire in your veins. That unquenchable spark that sets you apart from these swine—it’s pure, untamed, the kind of strength that could rebuild kingdoms.”

Mia jerked her head away, spitting, “Don’t touch me, you bastard!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

She swallowed hard, her voice trembling but defiant. “What do you want from me? My loyalty? My body?”

“Both” he murmured, his tone shifting back to cold calculation. “In the Velvet Chambers,” he continued, “I have no chance, beauty reigns supreme there, and my brooding charm is worthless against pretty boys with honeyed tongues and perfect smiles.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with predatory promise. “But you, you’re a weapon wrapped in silk, your fire, your cunning, you could be the most valuable asset in my ascent.”

Mia’s lip curled, her voice a raw snarl. “Fuck you.”

Victor merely wagged the vial in front of her face before saying, “Such a tiny thing wouldn’t save all of them, of course.” His voice was silky with dark amusement. “But perhaps you could choose one to come along—as long as you comply.”

Mia’s eyes blew wide, her thoughts no doubt swirling in her head like a tempest in a bottle, weighing lives against grudges.

Victor began taunting her further, his words probing like fingers at an open wound. “Would you really give up the life of another for your silly grudges? Let them foam and die while you cling to your pride?”

The air thickened with her internal struggle, her face twisting in reluctant defeat until finally she nodded, the word “fine” just barely passing her lips.

Victor leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. “Good girl,” he purred, the praise dripping with condescension.

Then his right hand began trailing lower, lower still, until he brushed his fingers at her groin through the fabric of her pants.

Mia gasped, her body jerking as if shocked by lightning. “What are you doing?!” she demanded, voice cracking with a mix of rage and unwanted arousal. Victor chuckled softly, his fingers pressing firmer, drawing out a reluctant shiver from her.

“This,” he explained, his reasoning cold and calculated, “is to seal our deal—pleasure binds stronger than chains, and I want you to remember who owns that fire now.”

He pulled his fingers back slowly, revealing a wet spot leaking from the fabric of Mia’s pants, a little string of her release stretching between them like a traitorous bridge.

Mia stared at it in flustered horror, her cheeks burning brighter than the fire surrounding them. Victor smirked, bringing the sticky mess to her cheek and wiping it there with deliberate slowness.

She tried to speak back, defiance sparking on her tongue, but Victor crushed his mouth to hers in a brutal, claiming kiss. His tongue forced past her clenched teeth to plunder the heat inside, swallowing her protests in a wet, filthy surge that tasted of wine and betrayal.

Mia jerked back with a wet cough, gasping for air, but Victor was already circling around her like a shark scenting blood. He planted a kiss to her neck, his lips hot and insistent, before shedding her cloak with a savage flick.

The heavy wool whispered to the floor with a soft flutter before Victor’s hands seized the front of her shirt, ripping it open in one brutal yank, buttons pinging off the floor like scattered hail. The torn fabric peeled away to bare the slick, heaving swell of her breasts, skin flushed and shining in the flickering light.

Mia yelled out, her voice echoing, “You’re a hypocrite! Just as disgusting as the rest of us!”

That made Victor twitch a little, a crack in his stony facade, but he recovered with a dark laugh. I so desperately wanted to move, my body feeling like jelly left out in the sun, thoughts becoming harder to string together like beads on a fraying necklace.

Come on, you traitorous stilts! I begged my legs silently, panic mixing with blackened humor. But just then, I saw movement on the outer perimeter of the pit, a shadow shifting stealthily.

Atticus! I almost shouted aloud, the name exploding like fireworks. I’d almost forgotten he’d refused the drink too, ever the cautious scholar.

He put a finger to his lips, silencing my unspoken joy, before fishing through his sack of supplies with careful hands. Right then, Mia yelped as Victor undid his pants, the sound of leather sighing free echoing obscenely.

He fitted his cock through Mia’s slick thighs, the friction drawing a strangled moan from her. “Look at you, dripping like a whore despite your protests,” he said, his voice laced with cruel delight. “You pretend to hate it, but your body’s begging for more—pathetic, isn’t it?”

Victor drew back, his cock glistening with her unwilling slick, the swollen head catching the firelight like a polished blade.

He paused, just long enough for the cavern to hold its breath, then slammed forward in one savage, claiming thrust, the wet slap of flesh cracking through the air like a whip across bare skin.

Mia’s spine bowed, a strangled cry ripping from her throat as her body jerked forward, breasts swinging heavy and sweat-slicked beneath her.

I cursed a thousand, venomous oaths, each one a poisoned arrow aimed between Victor’s shoulder blades.

Mia folded, palms slamming to her knees for balance, but Victor hooked his fingers under her ankles and yanked. He lifted her hips higher, the new angle letting him drive deeper with each brutal snap of his hips.

The rhythm was merciless, wet, and obscene, each thrust forcing a broken moan from her lips. Drool began spilling from her corner of her mouth in silvery threads as her eyes rolled back in unwilling, shattered ecstasy.

My stomach lurched like a ship in a cyclone, bile clawing up my throat, yet I couldn’t tear my gaze away, transfixed by the grotesque ballet of betrayal and lust playing out in the firelit shadows.

Atticus ghosted closer along the cavern’s edge, a scholar turned assassin. He held some clear flask in his hand, glinting like bottled starlight.

And then, without warning, he exploded from the darkness, a vengeful specter in his rumpled cloak, and brought the flask down across Victor’s skull with a sickening crack that rang like a church bell tolling for the damned.

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