The rope around Ethan's left wrist felt a little looser. Though his skin was slick with blood, he kept twisting and pulling. "Then why destroy all that hard work by using black magic?"
Walter snorted. "After spending so much time in Elizabeth's company, I'm surprised you even have to ask that question."
Elizabeth hungered for power, for control, but Walter, he suspected, hungered for a hell of a lot more than that. Utter domination and humiliation seemed more his forte.
Walter reappeared on his left side and picked up a knife lying on a table. Ethan tensed and tugged harder on the ropes. Felt them give a little more. Time, he just needed more time.
Walter didn't turn his way, didn't even look at him. Chanting softly, he rolled toward the fire pit, stopping so close to the edge that the flames licked and danced across his toes.
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a bony arm that was a mass of crisscrossed scars.
