NINETEEN
Need a weapon.
Lila, Chip, and Dale had scoured the tower top to bottom but hadn’t found anything she could use to protect herself once she climbed down to the ground.
Because she would be climbing down—even if she had to burn every inch of herself on vine to become immune. But then what? She had no weapon, survival gear, currency, or a map.
She didn’t even have clothes.
Figuring someone might have lost a piece of jewelry in the fountain drain—a diamond could come in handy—she crawled into the basin. Chip and Dale hung out on the edge to oversee the job.
She told them, “If I get stuck in this well, go find Timmy.” Ass sticking in the air, she wedged her arm into the drainage pipe, patting around for anything loose.
Nothing. She pulled her arm out, then eyeballed the drain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her voice echoed down the pipe.
Chip started to skitter like crazy.
She raised her head. “What? What are you looking at? No, seriously, what are you looking at? I can’t tell with all your eyes.” The rest of the unseen spiders skittered in the walls . . . like a warning.
She sensed the heat of a gaze on her upturned ass. Must be Abyssian. She whispered to Dale, “Fuckface is right behind me, isn’t he?” She gracefully made it to her feet and turned to the demon.
As usual, he wore no shirt, just low-slung leather pants. His horns were straightened, his eyes black. Surprise, surprise—he was hard.
Had the demon been leering at her on all fours, imagining what he would do to her?
A shiver raced over her at the thought. She was reminded of another inscription on the wall: Horns flaring, he mounted her from behind, wedging his great shaft into her wetness.
Her cheeks flushed. Damn it, she could not be viewing Abyssian Infernas in a sexual light. No female could be that hard-up.
Without a word, he began pacing in front of her, his large, scuffed boots pounding the stone floor. Trying to get himself under control?
She sat on the fountain edge between the spiders, and the three of them stared as he strode back and forth.
When the demon frowned at her colleagues, she said, “Meet Chip and Dale. Guys, this is His Highness, the evil tyrant of hell.”
Still Abyssian said nothing. Pacing, pacing. Finally, he grated, “What is a face character?”
He must’ve had his own spies check her backstory. “A greeter of sorts at Disney World.” At his blank look, she said, “It’s an amusement park with rides and games.”
“The castle I saw at that . . . park was a facsimile?”
She nodded.
“Then the Magic Kingdom is a place of trickery,” he said, seeming keyed up at the idea.
“People know they’re getting tricked. They like it.” She tilted her head. “I’d call it more make-believe.”
“And this place was built for amusement?”
Unable to resist, she said, “Mortals also go there to worship a mouse god. His likeness is everywhere. There’s a duck demigod too. I could show you around.”
He gestured at himself. “Go into the mortal realm?”
With his horns, glyphs, and dark red skin? That wide mask of black around—
Her lips parted. His eyes had turned green. He’d grown calm enough for them to revert to their natural color.
A vivid, blazing green. Whoa.
Inner shake. “The mortals would, um, think you were in costume.”
“And then you could use your speed to flee among them.”
She should’ve concealed her super speed. All fey were fast, but the royals were the fastest. Some said that was how they’d gotten to be royal to begin with.
Since this was the calmest she’d ever seen Abyssian, she tried to reason with him: “Will you just trace me somewhere I can use a phone? If I miss any more days without calling in, I’m going to get shit-canned from my job.” She knew she could never work there again—her hiding place had been blown—but it’d be nice to give her supervisor a heads-up. Oh, and then to use her speed to flee the demon among the mortals.
He leaned against a wall, the sinews in his torso flexing. His wide shoulders tapered down to those narrow hips.
She might’ve expected the king of hell to have a bulky, no-neck build. Instead, his seven-foot-plus frame had been blessed with long, lean muscles and not a spare ounce of flesh anywhere.
He was oblivious to the fire vines on the wall. In fact, they peeled away from him, as if he was too hot.
Could she produce heat to tame them? Her immunity efforts were slow-going and painful.
“You work in a park devoted to make-believe and games,” he said, his gaze keen. “Did you go to school to learn your trade?”
No school necessary for her gig, but . . . “I went to college in the mortal realm.” Courtesy of her fake ID and Papa Disney. Without any kind of social life to distract her from studies, she’d completed her first degree with a triple major in under three years.
On graduation day, she’d started on her second degree. She collected them.
“You were a princess in a former life; I can’t see you with your nose in a book. I imagine you fixated on baubles and laces, dreaming about ball gowns.”
“I used to be like that.”
“What happened?”
She gazed past him. “It was time to stop being a silly girl.”
Her beautiful but unfeeling mother used to tell her, “No matter what trials you face, you must be as you’ve always been: a princess of the blood.”
In the mortal realm, Lila had realized that if she didn’t adjust, she’d be culled from that world before she reached her immortality.
Her mother had said, “You are the boulder in a stream, standing immovable against constant pressures.” But Lila had told herself, “I’m a tree in the woodlands. I can’t expect the sun to come find me; I’ll stretch to reach the light.” Determined to fit in, she’d dressed like mortals, talking and behaving like them.
The demon snapped, “Godsdamn it, what are you thinking about?”
“Huh? Nothing important.”
In Demonish, he muttered, “Maddening female.” She got the impression that he hated her but was helplessly intrigued by his mate.
When would he admit that she was his? She might have disbelieved it, but there were times . . . “I was just recalling a watershed moment in my life that shaped me as a person. But I’d never share it with someone I distrust so much.”
He glowered. “Why did you disguise your eyes?”
She shrugged. “I wish they matched.”
“They do when they turn.”
“My eyes don’t turn.”
“Bright teal. A lover never told you that?” His voice dropped lower. “Hasn’t your fiancé brought you to come?”
Her cheeks grew hot. She was used to blunt talk, but his interest was . . . dark. “Why would my orgasms be any of your business?” Because I’m your . . . starts with an M . . .
He didn’t take the bait. Standing fully, he investigated her food tray. “You truly can’t stomach these dishes?” When she shook her head, he strode outside, gazing back at her.
Expecting her to follow?
Picking a spot on the terrace where the railing had broken off, he sat with his long legs hanging off the edge.
She sidled closer.
“Sit, Calliope.” He waved beside him.
“So you can push me off?”
“I can do that anyway.”
True. She cautiously joined him, catching a hint of his scent. Fire, evergreen, and male.
There they sat, overlooking hell together. They hated each other, but apparently they’d called a temporary truce.
She wanted information from him; what was his reasoning?
As he gazed out at the rugged terrain, tension seemed to seep from him. His eyes even grew a touch heavy-lidded. He clearly loved it here.
She tried to see it from his point of view. Now that the ash had cleared, the sun shone brighter, and the landscape was alive with color. The black of the mountains only made the lava river more vivid. Gold and silver stripes ran down cliff faces. Did molten ore simply spill out?
She pointed to the largest volcano far in the distance. “What is the name of that one?”
“Mount Volar.”
“The name of the river?”
“The Styx.”
“When I was younger, I would read tales about this dimension. Are there really traps in the wilds of hell?” What will I face out there?
“Countless. Which should appeal to you.” He turned to look at her. “A net from spider silk was crafty. But the crowning touch was using phallic carvings for a weight.”
“You are the one who imprisoned me in this tower. Besides, if anyone should be brought down by faun erections, it’s you, King Abyssian. You deserved that and more.”
Green eyes lively, he asked, “Are you planning on more?”
“I’m just getting warmed up.”
For some reason, her answer seemed to please him. “A wiser female would use her wiles, instead of coming at me head-on.”
“I don’t possess wiles.”
His gaze roamed over her. Voice dropping to a husky timbre, he said, “Oh, little firebrand, I beg to differ.”
Stifling the impulse to fan herself, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I would never depend on wiles anyway. I depend on my mind. It’s served me well in the past; it will with you.”
“You propose to outwit me?” He grew animated, as if this was the most exciting thing he’d heard—in centuries. “Be forewarned, I’m a master of trickery. I could match even Loki, the greatest trickster ever to live.”
“I’ve experienced your trickery with those labors.” Reminded of those interminable hours, she said, “But I don’t expect anything more from you; trickery is for the weak-minded and lazy.”
He looked to be on the verge of laughing. “Calliope, I would very much like to spar with you. I wager I’ll be up for the mental challenge.”
“Demon, I win this round just by virtue of one fact.”
“Which is?”
She held his gaze. “You didn’t even know we’ve already begun.”
His expression turned to one of fascination. Then he seemed to harden himself. “You were bright in your past life as well.”
“Who do you believe I was?”
He hesitated, then said, “You were once Kari of Sylvan. A treacherous princess.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“A soothsayer confirmed it.” No doubt Nïx. “And you are nigh identical to Kari in looks.”
“According to your ten-millennia-old recollection? I’m not convinced. Shouldn’t I have memories of my past life?”
“Some do; some don’t. The most visceral memories are the ones that might remain. Often they come in dreams.”
“I suppose I would have had an inkling of one by now. If I were going to.”
“Perhaps nothing was visceral enough for you to retain,” he grated, his ire at the ready.
She was still on edge, her ire just as much so. In a pointed tone, she said, “Perhaps one has to sleep comfortably to dream. I myself sleep on the floor, huddled for warmth.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Tell me about that princess’s crimes.” Lila was determined not to be equated with some long-ago fey.
“You betrayed me. Then you . . . died.”
The mix of emotions he attempted to conceal made her stomach knot. Despite the passage of so many years, he still grappled with yearning, hatred, and grief.
In all her confusion about this reincarnation business, she hadn’t given much thought to his loss. This hint of vulnerability made him seem less of a villain.
At least he believed he had motives to torment Lila. “You said she died in childbirth.” If I’m reincarnated, could I—she—we—have an immortal kid out there? Or a line of my own? “Did the baby survive?”
Abyssian shook his head. Staring out over hell, he murmured, “Lost with you.”
If Lila recovered Kari’s memories, would she relive dying? And the death of her child? She shivered. “Who was the father?”
Without looking at her, the demon gave a curt shake of his head. Lay off.
Still too affected? At some point, she was going to have to ask if Kari was his mate. Not posing the question would become as incriminating as blurting out her knowledge. “How big is this castle?” she asked, changing the subject.
He seemed relieved. “Immense. It has seven towers, each with hundreds of rooms, all filled with treasures.”
“It sounds like a city.”
“In a mystical realm, the structure grew and changed in unforeseen ways. It’s steeped in magic. Some say it has a mind of its own.”
“What do you mean?”
Her interest clearly pleased him. “If Graven likes an individual, it will give him or her gifts, even steering one’s steps.”
She recalled the fanciful stories she’d read about magical palaces and charmed keeps. Under different circumstances, she might’ve liked to explore this place.
“The heart of the castle is all but alive, a moving labyrinth. Yet you think to escape?” He shook his head. “Finding your way outside could take you days, or even years. And if Graven didn’t want you to leave, you never would.”
Given enough time, she could prison-break anything. You’re running out of time, Lila. Her deadline approached. “I wager I could. Set me loose inside, and let’s see.”
“Escaping the castle would only catapult you into more danger. The lava river tides are unpredictable. Time it poorly, and you’d be incinerated. And what do you think my subjects would do with an alluring fey wandering around hell?” Maybe help her escape? “Say you made it past them and the fire river, you’d then have to contend with traps and predators. Hellhounds would rip you to pieces, if the reptiles didn’t get you first. And in the end, you’d still be trapped in this dimension.”
If she could find one sympathetic demon in the realm, she could talk him into teleporting her. But if not . . . “I read that there’s a portal leading to my homeland, the Pando-Sylvan rift.”
Did tension steal over him? “It’s closed forever.”
“Maybe I could open it.”
“That would be an unequaled feat. It’s been sealed for millennia with the strongest magics.”
“You’ve presented problems that need solutions. I like solving things. My motto is FITFO.”
“Pardon?”
“Figure it the fuck out. I’ll do it over and over again out there.”
He was getting exasperated with her. “A tender female like you wouldn’t make it five minutes.”
“You’d be surprised. My talent is adapting.”
“In your past life, you expected the universe to bend to your will. Now you talk about adapting with pride.”
“I do it well.” Didn’t mean she liked to. One day she’d have power over her own destiny.
“Such as when befriending spiders?”
She gazed over her shoulder. Chip and Dale peeked around the upper corners of the terrace doorway like two songbirds from a fairy tale. She faced Abyssian. “Whatever it takes, demon.”
“How well you adapt won’t matter if you get attacked by any of the beasts out there. What if history repeats itself and you die before you become immortal? Even if you avoid pregnancy, you could still be killed. And that ring can’t heal a lethal wound.”
She wanted to scream, Your archer buddy will sink an arrow into my heart! Instead she said, “You’re right. I should just sit here and starve. Or wait for a maniacal demon to come be my reaper.”
“I told you I won’t kill you.” He gazed out at the mountains. “Perhaps I’m done punishing you. Maybe I got the worst of my anger out of my system.” He slid her a sideways look. “Plus evidence begins to suggest you are not a spy. I’m not convinced, but for now I’ll withhold judgment on that count. For the rest, imprisonment will suffice.”
“Now I feel so much safer. I’ll sleep like a babe tonight the second my head hits the pillow. Oh, wait. I don’t have a pillow. But as long as I’m not being punished . . .”
A clean breeze blew over them, toying with strands of her hair. She lifted her head to take in the new scents. “There’s a sea nearby?” Even the sea breeze carried a hint of fire.
The air smelled like Sylvan in the fall, when gardeners used to burn leaves. All around the castle, plumes of smoke would funnel upward. That night there’d be an autumn feast.
Will I never return home?
His gaze took in her face. “The Mercury Sea. The shore is on the other side of the castle.”
Shore. She felt another pang. She used to love swimming in Sylvan’s streams and ponds. When she’d lived in Florida, the land of easy swimming, she’d never been able to risk revealing her ears.
“My chambers overlook the water.”
Must be nice. “How did the sea get its name?”
“When calm, the silver water reflects the sky. On stormy days, it looks like mercury.”
It sounded spectacular. “You’re proud of your home.”
He grated, “There is much to be proud of.” His wings unfolded, drawing her attention.
Both times he’d closed them around her she’d been too freaked out to register how they felt.
“Never seen wings before? The demon slaves in Sylvan must be wingless breeds.”
“They’re not slaves. They’re serfs.”
“Are you jesting?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Whatever you have to tell yourself, princess.”
Lila had been exiled young. Had her understanding of the fey realm been skewed?
Frustration clear in his expression, he asked, “Why do you have such strong mental blocks?”
“So crazy demon kings can’t tap into any more of my nightmares and make them come true—”
Her stomach growled; he stiffened at the sound.
“I won’t be endlessly entertaining to you when I curl up on the ground from weakness and never get up. Is that what you planned?”
Seeming to make a decision about her, he said, “Perhaps not.” He raised his palm, twirling his other hand over it. An orange appeared!
As he peeled it, her mouth watered at the scent, her gaze following his fingers. They were surprisingly dexterous, but those claws . . . Could he retract them even more? How did he touch females?
He caught her gaze. “What would you do for this?”
She gave him her most arrogant smile. “Not a fucking thing, demon.”
Had his lips quirked? Seeming pleased by her answer, he held out the orange atop his flattened palm—as she’d once fed deer.
Now she was the creature being coaxed closer. When she swiped the orange, their fingers brushed, and a current seemed to pass between them. Hell demons must give off sparks. “Is it poisoned?”
“If you doubt it, return it.”
MINE. With her first bite, she rolled her eyes with pleasure. Even her taste buds were becoming more sensitive. “Thank you,” she said between bites. As she ate, energy poured into her, her headache fading.
When juice dripped onto one of her boobs, his gaze grew heavy-lidded. In Demonish, he said, “I find myself desperately craving orange juice.”
She reminded herself to act as if she didn’t understand him. “It’s bad manners to speak a different language in front of those who don’t know it.” Once she’d finished her orange, she asked, “Do you eat fruit?”
“Demons need meat.” With a significant look, he said, “But I’m also tempted by sweet things.”
Changing the subject . . . “How much magic do you wield?”
He hiked his broad shoulders. “In this plane, I can do nigh anything.”
“You have power over everything here?” Such as my life . . .
He exhaled. “Total and utter.”
“You sound as if you regret that fact, which confuses someone like me—who has zero power.”
“Life is long without a challenge,” he said. No wonder hers had sped by! “And you do wield power. It can reside in beauty and desire. You possess the former, eliciting the latter from me.” He openly admitted to desiring her?
Before she could reply, he conjured a pomegranate. She caught herself grinning at his magic. “Those are my favorite.”
He used a claw to slice it open, then handed half to her. “I know. You loved them in the distant past.”
How many people loved pomegranates above every other fruit? She’d been able to dismiss his knowledge of her spider phobia, but not this.
Taken with those rumors of her reincarnation, it might be time to accept the evidence.
Weren’t reincarnates usually brought back to right some wrong? So why would Lila have been reborn?
Maybe to bring down the Møriør.
She believed in fate; the idea of a greater cosmic purpose for her existence appealed to her in so many ways. . . .
She scooped out the seeds from one of the sections, moaning with delight. Yet then he gestured for her to return it.
But . . . but . . . She gazed from the fruit to the demon.
He had a tricksy look in his eyes, as if he’d just made a chess play and was wondering if she could predict all the moves ahead.
He didn’t expect her to hand it back to him. So she forced herself to.
His lips curled. Then he hurled the fruit toward the Styx.
“Hey! Nooo.” She glared at him. “Dick.”
“Am I?” He traced away.
What did that mean? Sighing, she stood and returned to her tower. Inside, she drew up short. New things filled one of the rooms!
She rushed closer. He’d given her a mattress with luxurious bedding. A rug warmed the space, and a mirror hung on the wall. A gift box sat atop the new bed.
She knew all this had come because she’d handed back her pomegranate. Tricksy, tricksy demon.
The point wasn’t lost on her. Give a little to get.
But what else did he want her to give?
Glancing around at the inscriptions on the chamber walls, she frowned. Of all the rooms Abyssian could have chosen—such as the fellatio room or the “wheelbarrow” one—he’d picked for her the room that celebrated a demon’s claiming bite.
He, for one, believed they had a fated connection. So why wouldn’t he cop to it?
Atop the gift box lay a note, handwritten with a bold scrawl:
Join me for dinner at nightfall.
A
This must be more trickery, a trap of some sort. But if knowledge was her only weapon, seeing more of the castle would benefit her.
She opened the package, finding a gown of dazzling gold silk. It was strapless, with a stiff, low-cut bodice. Goldwork embroidery adorned the wide ballroom skirt. Maybe the gold thread had been spun from straw.
Also in the package were matching pumps, a corset, hose and garters, toiletries, and a bathrobe.
Would the king expect to sleep with his dinner date? What if those twelve concubines were in attendance?
She could skip dinner, using the bedding material to shield her skin as she climbed down the fire vines.
Or she could accept the invitation . . . and carry out her escape. She surveyed all the gifts—her new arsenal. Oh, Abyssian, you just fucked up royally.
Lila grinned. She would join him for dinner, on her way somewhere else.