Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

centuries. Stories of a hideous old guesthouse with such a carving by the doorway—she’d heard them all, but had never seen it or known its location.
    A laugh escaped her now as she looked at the crumbling figure. “That’s how you see yourselves, isn’t it? You Guardians think you’re all dragon slayers. Kill the monster and save the village. I have news for you, mio caro. The world has changed. The village no longer wants to be saved,” she told him. “The monster is too much fun to have around.”
    He said nothing, but hefted her over his shoulder again. From her upside-down position, she saw the faded carpet, the worn furnishings in the cramped foyer.
    Brandon exchanged a few words with the concierge, took a key that was handed to him. From behind the simple counter, the man also passed him a duffel bag and a bottle of vodka.
    Up the rickety elevator, into a hotel room.
    He pushed her inside.
    The room was shabby and spare, barely more than a backpackers’ hostel. There was a narrow bed that would barely fit two people. A doorless space with a curtainless shower served as a bathroom. He dragged her over to the bed, unlocked one of her wrists—only to relock it so that she was secured to the cheap wrought-iron frame with her wrists bound together. Double-checking the cuffs, he ensured that her wrists had enough circulation. Then he stepped away, apparently satisfied.
    He left her in this position, with her arms locked behind her, sitting at the top of the bed.
    “It’s no surprise that the Company of Amateurs would favor such a run-down dive of a pensione,” she said. “There are palaces all over Venice. The streets are literally lined with palazzos. And this is the place you choose. Tell me, why do you angels always choose such dingy accommodations? You all seem to think there’s something noble about living in poverty.”
    He eyed her up. “Deal with it, principessa. ”
    She jerked so hard that the metal cuffs clanged against the gilded curlicue of the bedframe.
    “Don’t ever call me that again,” she said. “You have no idea what you’re playing with. You have no idea who I am. And whatever they told you, those angels of yours…whatever Julian Ascher told you is a pack of lies.”
    “Whatever.”
    She said coyly, “Are you going to punish me?”
    “It’s not my job to punish you,” he said evenly. “I told you in the church—I merely came to collect you.”
    “Too bad,” she pouted. “You’re missing all the fun.”
    He whipped the shawl off her back.
    She flinched, but willed herself, Do not cry.
    “If you’re planning on raping me, you’ll never get away with it,” she said sullenly.
    “Believe me, I would never do that. That’s not how I operate. But I will gag you if necessary. And for that, all I’ve got are old socks,” he said, mildly amused. “So I’d keep my voice down, if I were you.”
    Without speaking, he inspected her wounds. He touched a spot.
    Don’t cry, she told herself.
    “What is this, some kind of divinely charged handcuff?” she grumbled, twisting to stare down at the curved metal and willing the tears not to fall from her eyes.
    “No, ma’am, just plain steel. I like to do things the old-fashioned way.”
    “Old-fashioned,” she said. “You have no idea what that means. Aren’t you worried that I might dematerialize?”
    “If you were capable of that, you would have done it by now. You’re bound to your physical body.”
    “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”
    She jerked against the cuffs again, shaking the bed. He looked down at her, bored. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re just going to injure yourself further.”
    She glared back at him, letting the hatred flash in her eyes. So she was at the mercy of this lout. She had never been in such a position before.
    A position of total vulnerability.
    She had negotiated, surely, had bartered her body to gain advantage in countless situations. But handcuffed and held against her will?
    Never.
    It infuriated her, as nothing had before. She had gotten herself into—and out of—many situations before. But she had never allowed a man to render her so completely helpless, a s this one had.
    She watched him as he moved around the room, digging through his bag for a clean change of clothes.
    He went into the doorless bathroom. She wondered if the unmannered American barbarian was going to open his fly and piss right in front of her. Instead, he went to the dingy sink