With a snort, Riordan shook his head. How the hell did she expect him to answer anything while gagged? She didn’t seem to mind though. Instead, she asked again, this time directing the question to Billy. “What is his name?”

“Riordan Kincaid,” Billy supplied, driven by the curse in his blood to obey.

“Riordan,” Phenalope repeated in a purr. “I like that. It’s such a rolling and round and romantic name. It’s not harsh like I might have expected. No, that’s a name that should be said slowly, enunciating each sound. A very enjoyable name to say.”

Riordan had chosen this name himself around the time he moved to America. He’d kept it even after his actions had dragged that name through the mud, as a reminder of who he really was, for better or worse. This was the first time someone had made him actually dislike his name. He could take a bunch of negativity if it was shit he’d earned. Phenalope was attaching a bunch of meanings and connotations to his name that had nothing to do with the reality of Riordan.

It felt like she was trying to use his name to redefine who he was as a person. The sensation was similar to someone running slimy hands over his skin.

Actually, she might be literally trying to do just that. Names had power. There was a reason that magic users took care in selecting new names, either from a life change or as titles for the magic community. A new name could change a person’s identity on a deeper level than most expected once it truly became their name. Riordan was a hair’s breadth away from shifting his teeth and breaking the gag when Billy spoke again.

“No, ma’am,” the guard said, his voice still sounding flat and mechanical despite his unsolicited words, “His name is not enjoyable. He is a former criminal. No one who knows him would touch him yet.”

Ouch. As far as defenses went, the truthful insults were an interesting choice. Yet, those insults were ones that Riordan owned. The slimy feeling fell away as Riordan snorted a laugh. The “yet” at the end and the word “former” both were strangely hopeful. Billy was acknowledging both Riordan’s sins that had gotten him exiled and the forgiveness of those sins by Mother Bear that was slowly permeating out into her pack.

“A criminal?” Phenalope sounded surprised, “This beautiful man? The Goddess chose her gift wisely. A man with sin on his soul requires redemption. I shall provide it.”

Riordan had no interest in the kind of redemption a death mage would offer. Hell, he had no interest in the kind of redemption a regular cult leader would offer either. The gag kept him from saying a hundred different retorts in response to her bullshit.

Those thoughts distracted him momentarily and Riordan missed the way Phenalope’s scent grew closer until he felt the soft press of lips to the edge of his gagged mouth. He jerked back instantly, growling. Phenalope merely hummed, unperturbed, until saying, “That gag is in the way. Please remove it.”

It was Billy rather than the assistant who reached down to unknot the gag. Riordan held still while the man worked the knot loose at the back of his head, but as soon as the tail ends fell freely, he shook himself and spat the spit-soaked gag out. He managed to hit Phenalope as he had hoped, but it was more of a flop against her lap than a more dramatic gesture.

The assistant immediately sprung into action. “Prophet,” the stranger spoke, her voice marking her as female, “Please, let me clean that for you. Do you want me to punish him?”

Ah, it seemed like she really were both assistant and muscle for her precious “prophet.” Riordan almost wanted to see her try laying hands on him. He let Phenalope do a bit of that because keeping her focused on tormenting him personally tied up her time and attention. Letting some underling fuck him up would only be a short show for the death mage and not worth the aggravation, especially since fighting back would both extend the show and interest a sicko like Phenalope.

He just had to make sure he didn’t push them so far that they knocked him out. Riordan could do a lot as long as he was aware enough to act. He’d take the responsibility for cleaning up the breach if he had to shift. Breaching the secrecy wasn’t worth it if it was just his own life at stake, but he’d managed to tie his life to people who needed him. The pack bond throbbed in his chest. He wouldn’t fail.

Fortunately, Phenalope just laughed. “It’s alright, Sara. He’s just a caged wild animal, lashing out. I want him tamed, not broken, but I fear I will get neither before the Goddess takes him back. Instead, I shall enjoy his wildness and his redemption.”

“You talk a lot of shit, as usual,” Riordan growled out, his voice a bit raspy. The gag had dried out his mouth and made his jaw ache. It would pass soon, but he reveled in the discomfort for now. “My redemption does not belong to you.”

That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say, but Riordan realized that he meant it. When had he decided that he was worthy of redemption? The pack weren’t the only ones still processing his forgiveness. He hadn’t earned it, but that just meant he was even less entitled to squander it.

He felt her reaching for him. Riordan warned her, “If you touch me, I will hurt you. I don’t belong to you.”

Phenalope paused, her hand close enough that Riordan felt its warmth but not touching him. “You were gifted to me. Who do you think owns you?”

“My pack,” Riordan answered without thinking, a feral grin stretching across his lips. “We’re pretty much the most rejected scraps of humanity at the moment, but they needed me and I gave myself to them without regret. And lady, I know all about regret. I think you do too, when you aren’t lost in the madness.”

“My Daughters need me. I shall become a Goddess incarnate for them and for all who suffer as they did. As I did once,” Phenalope’s confession was drawn out by his, whispered words shared between them, “There shall be blood and vengeance and then there shall be peace and belonging. I shall make it so.”

“And yet,” Riordan challenged wryly, “you got me here by threatening to kill all those precious ‘daughters’ to feed your lust for power. I’m risking my pack to save your daughters from you. Want to guess which of us is failing the people who need us worse?”

He really wished he could see her expression, but the furious inhale of breath was still a nice reward. Phenalope hissed at him and he could hear that edge insanity creeping in as she said, “I would have never done it. Not to my true Daughters.”

Riordan laughed in her face. “You keep telling yourself that. I can already hear you dividing your followers into real ones and expendable ones. Every time you find yourself needing more power, those definitions probably get stricter and stricter. Eventually, you’ll reach a point where there is no one you wouldn’t screw over for power. That’s what practicing death magic does to a person. That’s why we kill death mages when we find them. Not that the trails of bodies and blood doesn’t make it obvious when there’s a death mage around.”

Phenalope was clearly restraining herself from the sounds she was making, grinding her teeth and squeaking. Riordan probably needed to pull back. If he made her feel too out of control, she’d leave him just to feel better. That would free her up to be doing all sorts of nasty things.

As such, Riordan added reluctantly, “Then again, most death mages aren’t like you. You’ve managed to stay hidden from both magical and mundane authorities for a while. Perhaps there is something to this Goddess blessing you are talking about.”

That was clearly the right choice. Phenalope was more than happy to swing back into praising herself and her made-up religion. “The Goddess shows me the way. She blessed me with power. While my power may grow with the sacrifice of others, I am not some ‘death mage.’ That sounds like some sort of goth dramatics. I am a prophet of a new way, one that walks over the corpses of our enemies and oppressors to reach paradise.”

Riordan couldn’t help smiling. Quinn would have laughed so hard at the description of death mages as some sort of goth dramatics, especially since the man had leaned into just that aesthetic to hide his true identity. Quinn also had far more awareness about the cost of the power he wielded and how it would one day undermine everything he fought for.

Of course, Phenalope had no idea what was going through Riordan’s mind and interpreted his smile as she chose. “Paradise does sound lovely, doesn’t it. You shall be the seed of that kingdom.”

“I don’t think you’ll like what grows if you plant me in the ground,” Riordan muttered. “Certainly won’t be a kingdom, that’s for sure.”

Phenalope laughed. He had no idea why she seemed to find him charming. If he hadn’t already known she was completely crazy, the way she seemed drawn to him would have made it clear on its own. Riordan wasn’t likeable. He worked hard to stay that way, damn it. He’d be insulted if Phenalope had actually liked him for himself rather than her own twisted vision of him.

“I think many delightful things could grow from you,” Phenalope replied before sighing dramatically, “Sadly, you are a gift for my godhood. I was never meant to keep you for long. I shall just have to make the most of you while you are here.”

Like that didn’t sound hella foreboding. He didn’t want to be anything to this woman but a distraction and eventually her downfall. Riordan frowned, opening his mouth to question what Phenalope meant by that. He didn’t get a chance to ask before her mouth covered his in a ravenous kiss as she pressed her body up against his.

Her tongue dipped into his open mouth, tasting of blood, death, and something cloying and sickeningly sweet.