FOURTEEN
For the past four days, Sian had run through the wilds of hell in the pouring rain. His emotions remained chaotic.
My mate finds me “repulsive.” He roared with frustration, increasing his pace.
He’d gone from being one of the most irresistible males in the universe to one his female could scarcely stand to look upon.
He didn’t even want her for his queen, but he wanted to be wanted. By her.
Months ago, he’d lamented to Rune that his new visage would keep females from flocking to him—which had meant fewer substitutes to blunt his need for Kari. Even if only for a brief time.
Has my need ever been blunted? He’d told himself he was using other females to purge himself of his obsession. Then why is it even stronger?
Hardly trusting himself around his prisoner after their last encounter, Sian had remained away, refusing even to watch her through the mirror.
Fate must have been jesting to pair a lovely fey with a bitter monster. Maybe Nïx’s plan was to madden Sian until he became a less effective warrior.
When the brush grew thicker, he drew his battle-ax from its holster. All but an extension of him, the weapon had a solid-black blade, the metal forged in hellfire. His sire, King Devel, had given it to him when Sian had been a pup, with a word of advice: Only hit hard if you aim true, son.
The fey prided themselves on their Titanian steel, but this razor-sharp hell metal was indestructible.
Sian hacked his way through the dense brush. Strange, even with his current turmoil, the landscape wasn’t as restless as it’d been before his female had arrived.
The rains were easing the drought and tamping down the airborne ash. Even the Styx was subsiding to normal levels of lava.
At times, he took pleasure in seeing the lands react to his moods, one of the few aspects he liked about being king. Otherwise, the crown of Pandemonia was just a weighty responsibility that fell to him—but held no benefit.
A king’s power? As a primordial, he’d already been infinitely powerful.
Having legions to command? With nothing more than this ax, Sian had felled armies all on his own. Plus his Møriør alliance could wreak more havoc than millions of trained warriors.
No, he hadn’t yet found any real benefits to this throne—only one horrific liability: the hell-change.
That curse had warped Goürlav all the way up to his recent defeat in a death match. Each year for eons, his appearance had deteriorated.
So too will mine. Though Sian’s transformation differed from his fraternal twin’s—each becoming a separate brand of monster—he could feel himself worsening. A low, constant hum reverberated along his spine, as if some engine powered his decline.
He ran harder. He’d bloody liked his former face. It’d stared back at him from the mirror for ten thousand years, was part of his identity.
Take away my face, what happens to my sense of self?
When he dreamed, he looked as he once had. When he fantasized about taking his mate, his body wasn’t hulking and monstrous.
If I could just find the hellfire . . .
He remembered the last time he’d seen his dam, darkness personified. After hundreds of millennia, her life force had run its course. An outline of a faded shadow by then, she’d wanted to pass on advice to her sons. . . .
“Your sire won’t survive long once I return to the ether.” Speaking over her sons’ pleas for her to stay, she told Goürlav, “Like King Devel, you shall inherit the crown and be cursed with the hell-change.”
Taking that bit of news better than Sian would have, Goürlav asked, “Will you finally tell us how he halted his curse?” Their sire was handsome.
She’d brushed Goürlav’s golden hair from his brow. “Find the fire, and your appearance will be pleasing.”
Sian frowned. “The hellfire?” Legend held that their ancestor had spied a colored flame across the black vastness of space. It’d lured him to this dimension, but proved elusive forever after. Sian and Goürlav had hunted for the fire, digging up clues, determined to solve the puzzle. “We cannot locate it.”
She gave him a weak smile. “If your sire could, then anyone can.”
Goürlav quietly said, “Why will he not tell us where it is?” His expression was wounded.
“Because the search prepares you for what is found. . . .”
To this day, despite countless desperate attempts, no one ever had uncovered the hellfire. Searching for it was futile, hopes of it ridiculous. Before Goürlav had left this dimension, he’d scoured it, draining himself of magic—only to become even more disillusioned.
Sian had searched no less. He could see every inch of hell in his mind, could picture everything from a crooked step in the castle to a dragon separated from its pack, but he couldn’t spy the source of that flame.
It’d probably faded to an ember, or extinguished entirely. Desperate. Futile. Ridiculous. Sian knew that.
So why had he been out here looking even now?
He burst into a clearing, startling a pack of hellhounds. They cowered before the king of hell. All creatures in Pandemonia—including demons—recognized Sian’s horns. But not all creatures recognized his dominion.
Like the mysterious Lôtān, now extinct.
Sian pushed on. He passed traps intended to snare trespassers. Apparently the Vrekener queen and her king had escaped two of them during their Pandemonian exploration.
Sian would devise new ones. That would help settle his mind.
He wondered what traps his mate would come up with. He couldn’t decide what was more aggravating: that she’d gotten the better of him, or his continued arousal over the memory.
As he headed into the great moonraker forest, uneasiness warred with his frustration. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone. After so long without her, he half-expected her to disappear again.
Or die. He’d been unable to prevent her first death—from childbirth.
Sian had never understood why her . . . husband hadn’t waited a few months or even a year for Kari to become invulnerable before getting her pregnant. Those two had had all the time in the worlds to start a family.
Why the urgency? Why hadn’t Kari insisted on waiting?
When he’d been sixteen, her needless death had leveled him. Unrelenting rage, jealousy, and grief had overwhelmed his young mind.
All these years later, he roared to the sky, unable to handle it better.
Even so, the pull to return to her was intense. He fought it. He’d told Uthyr he would be out in the wilds for a couple of months.
She was safe in her tower. Food automatically appeared for her. As long as she was within the bounds of Graven, she was protected from all the dangers of hell.
But she also seemed to be a magnet for trouble. And she wasn’t yet immortal.
Once Sian eventually returned, he would give her a ring bespelled to accelerate her healing until her immortality took over. With that in place, he could relax away from her.
He slowed his steps. Then shouldn’t he return and do it now?
No, until he’d wrested more control in this form, he might be the biggest danger to her.
Damn it, he didn’t trust his own judgment! He rammed his horns into a massive moonraker tree, toppling it.
Before he acted, he would confer with the dragon. His ally was here for just this purpose.
Sian closed his eyes to sense Uthyr’s location. . . . Got you, dragon. Though Uthyr usually hunted far afield, he’d been sticking close to the castle, was just behind the nearest mountain.
If Sian traced that close to home, he’d be foolish not to check on his prisoner at the same time. Telling himself he was not rushing back to his mate, Sian appeared at Uthyr’s location.
The dragon was nowhere to be seen.
Sian detected his ally’s invisible presence. Uthyr was crouched behind a boulder to pounce on his unsuspecting prey—a large reptile the size of a hellhound.
Uthyr said, —Do not spook my meal, demon, or you’ll be my meal.—
Clenching his jaw, Sian waited.
The dragon’s camouflaged tail swished side to side. Like a shot, he vaulted forward, snaring his quarry between his forepaws.
Shaking off his invisibility, Uthyr snapped the creature’s neck, then tossed the carcass above his head. He seared it with fire until it landed, roasted, in his mouth.
GULP. —Ahh. Medium well.— He stifled a belch with his bloody forepaw.
“I could have provided you a feast of those creatures.”
—Hunting keeps a dragon shifter young.— Uthyr turned back toward the castle along a canyon trail.
Sian fell in beside him. “I want your counsel about my prisoner.”
—I’m surprised to see you so soon. Not quite the two-month absence you predicted.— The dragon smirked. —I gave you a week. Seems we both overestimated your willpower.—
That smirk raised Sian’s hackles. So much for an ally’s wise counsel. “I returned because I might place protective magics over her. You’ll have to excuse my hypervigilance since this female has already died once!”
Uthyr kicked a boulder along as they walked. —Yet you somehow survived the loss.—
What was the dragon getting at? “Luckily I hadn’t claimed her.” Sian had never heard of a demon who wouldn’t greet death if his claimed mate perished. His own sire had. Somewhere in the Elserealms, Devel had led the front in an impossible battle—an immortal’s version of suicide.
Massive neck stretching, Uthyr craned his head toward Sian, making him feel like a laboratory animal under inspection. —Plus your hatred numbed what you felt for her and kept you from comprehending the magnitude of what you’d lost.—
Not helping Sian’s anxiety.
—To sever that lifeline of hate after so long would be like cutting off a limb.—
Or horns! “Why sever it when I’ve no doubt she’ll give me new reasons to hate her?”
—Such as her trap?—
“You know about that?” Was there anything his ally didn’t know about?
—I might have been observing the terrace that night.—
Sian bared his fangs. “Worthless dragonic spy!”
—I wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything drastic when you were fresh from a legion gathering. Picture how crazed you must’ve looked to her. She protected herself. Quite resourcefully, I might add.—
“Know that she will not seize the upper hand again,” he said with all confidence, even as he felt a whisper of disappointment over that fact.
Uthyr’s lips drew back from rows of pointed teeth, his version of a smile. —Imagine my surprise to see you plummeting from your own tower while leashed to a . . . what’s the modern phrase? Ah, yes, a bag of dicks.— He laughed at his own joke, emitting puffs of smoke.
Sian grated, “You’ve developed quite a mastery of modern phrasings.”
—I learned much from Rune’s memories.—
All of the Møriør were supposed to have slept during their five centuries of travel from the Elserealms to this side of the universe—except for Rune, who’d worked as their spy in Gaia.
Whenever a Møriør woke, he or she would delve into Rune’s mind to learn what history had passed and to pick up new words and speech patterns.
Sian hadn’t slept during the journey. Instead he’d lain in a kind of twilight, tormenting himself, wondering if this Accession would return his mate to him. . . .
Golden eyes alight, Uthyr said, —Plus the Vrekener queen, our new Pandemonian neighbor, has glorious television recordings! I secretly watch through her window.—
“That trespassing territory thief?” Melanthe had taken advantage of Sian, and he would punish her for it, somehow, someway. Speaking of territory . . . “Do you know where the Magic Kingdom is? My prisoner said it lies between Rivendell and Narnia.”
—These places sound familiar. I’ll think on it.— When Sian conjured a rag and began to clean his ax, the dragon said, —Searching for the hellfire again?—
Why had Sian confided his mother’s words to Uthyr?
Stopping along the path, the dragon placed a paw in front of Sian. —You need to accept that you will never find it. Acknowledge your curse and work within the confines of it.—
How easy for him to say! Uthyr voluntarily chose his shape.
Sian would kill to be a shifter. He’d even dreamed about shifting from his hell-change form to his previous guise and back.
—That’s your only chance for a lasting future with your female.—
“Lasting future? I despise her. I could never again trust her. Even so, any male would want to be attractive to his mate.” They continued on.
—If raised differently, Kari could be changed from before. Nature versus nurture, demon.—
“In this we agree. In fact, no longer will I call my prisoner Kari. This fierce new version, Calliope, is in a class all her own.” Because she wasn’t a royal in this life?
Maybe a princess’s restraint had been ingrained into Kari from birth. The same restraint that had curbed Kari’s temper could have controlled her sexuality.
Calliope had an explosive temper. Would her lusts be just as volatile?
“Turn Princess Kari feral . . . and you have Calliope.” Could that also mean she wasn’t narrow-minded and heartless? “Unless she’s playing games with me. The possibility remains that she’s a planted spy.”
—Games? Mayhap you’re attributing your own traits to her.— Uthyr flicked his tail, a movement he often made just before saying “checkmate.” —I’m surprised you haven’t decided to seduce her.—
Sian glowered at the dragon. “I’m sure you heard what she makes of my appearance.” He waved at himself. “She finds me repulsive.”
—What did you want most out of life? Ah, yes, a challenge.—
“An attainable one.” But hadn’t Sian also lamented never knowing a hard-won victory? If he could seduce her in this guise . . .
—Considering her age, she might be feeling the effects of overstimulation.—
Her senses would be growing ever sharper, bombarding her with stimulation, her desires increasing in time.
—I remember my own transition. I would have tupped a sweet-talking ghouless for relief.—
“You think I could use her new lusts against her?”
—I don’t like the conniving gleam in your eyes.—
Sian had been in battle. He’d suffered physical agony and horror. He’d lived through the amputation of his horns. But nothing had hurt him like the hole Kari had left in his chest. He needed to make her experience the same! He wanted her to fucking ache for him.
To think of nothing but him for the next ten thousand years.
“If someone who looks like me used and tossed her away, she’d be humiliated.” He might be able to punish her worse than the labors he’d planned.
—This was not the direction I’d hoped your mind would go. And how could you mate and discard her? You’d have to withhold your claiming bite. Is any demon male strong enough to resist marking his mate’s neck in the throes of first spending?—
If Sian did mark her with his fangs, she would irreversibly become the queen of hell. “A strong enough demon male? How about the primordial”—Sian pounded a fist against his chest—“of the entire godsdamned species?”
Uthyr gave him an unimpressed look.
“I’ll think on this, dragon. For now, let’s see how my captive reacts to amusing new torments.” Amusing for him alone, of course.
Before Sian could trace away, Uthyr said, —I’ve seen some of your recollections of her.—
Not surprising. As bonded as a family, the members of the Møriør were telepathically linked, with few secrets between them. Though he trusted his allies with his life, Sian had shielded certain memories from them. Yet snippets always slipped through. “When we all communicate, we learn much about each other.” A fact of life.
—True. And I might have dug a bit.—
Sian bared his fangs again. Digging into masked memories was taboo! If Uthyr saw Sian’s shameful pleas to Kari . . . “I’ve killed for lesser slights. Have I tried to find out why you refuse to shift back to your human form? No. But I will now.”
Uthyr shrugged his wings. —I investigated so I might be of more service to you, friend. I must know the history.—
There was a reason Sian didn’t want the others to know. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to the past.
After he’d revealed to Kari everything about his kind, she’d avoided him for weeks, refusing any contact with him. He’d been helpless to do anything as a future with his mate slipped from his panicked grasp.
Separated from his twin for the first time and without a single friend in that world, he’d walked around in a daze, doubt his only companion: Was I too rough with her, too demonic?
Maybe she’d had trouble accepting the totality of their fated connection. Or she’d been spooked by it. But surely she could never doom him to an existence with no female or family.
Then he’d heard the announcement of a surprise wedding between her and the Draiksulian king—set for that very afternoon. Sian had sprinted to the castle to stop her. He couldn’t lose both of his parents and his fated female in the space of a year! He climbed through her window. . . .
Surrounded by her handmaidens, she stood on a dais, dressed in a white gown. Her beauty stole his breath.
“What are you doing in here?” she demanded, giving him a look of distaste. “Get out now.”
He ran his hand over his face, comprehending his own appearance. He hadn’t shaven, and his garments were a mess. “I won’t leave until you talk to me.”
She dismissed her attendants. Something about her was different. She seemed both older and colder.
“What are you doing, Kari? Are you wedding that king to take yourself out of my reach?”
With zero emotion, she said, “I am marrying my fiancé because I want him. I have loved him since I was a little girl.”
Sian’s stomach lurched as if it’d been punched. “Do not do this, Kari. You love me!” Hadn’t she told him as much? The tender regard I feel for you . . .
“I do not—and could never—love an animal with horns.” She returned her attention to her reflection.
He gaped in disbelief. But their kiss . . . the way she’d responded . . . their plans . . .
Adjusting a lock of her shining hair, she asked, “Can I make it any plainer, prince of beasts?”
His actions later that day would shame him for the rest of his unending life. . . .
—Demon?— Uthyr’s gaze narrowed on Sian’s clenched fists.
He’d dug his claws into his palms until they dripped blood.
—At least tell me how Kari died. It must have been before she became fully immortal.—
Sian grated, “She died at twenty-four, giving birth to the child of another male.” He turned his mind from that enraging memory lest he trace to Calliope and do something dire. “Ask me no more about it. Just go, Uthyr. Fly with the other dragons.”
—I’m not a dragon; I’m a dragon shifter. But that juvenile pack is fun to spar with. If you refuse all of my advice, I might as well go.— He paused. —One thing, though . . . —
“What?”
—If history often repeats itself, and she’s on the cusp of immortality . . . could she currently be pregnant?—
To lose her again?
The king of all hells threw back his head and yelled until the whole realm quaked.