TWENTY-TWO
You’ve asked me a lot about my personal life, but what about yours?” Calliope leaned back in her chair, her breasts straining against her bodice.
The sight enthralled him. His arousal had been simmering since he’d first seen her in that gown. Even speaking of her betrayal hadn’t dimmed his need.
Ten days ago, he’d been sleepwalking; now everything felt so visceral.
She followed his gaze and tugged up her bodice in a vain attempt to cover more flesh. Kari would’ve worn that dress like a second skin, using the garment to play up her beauty—her favored weapon.
If this fey ever recalled her wiles, Sian would be doomed. “What do you wish to know about my personal life?”
“Do you want a wife and kids?”
“I do want pups,” he said honestly, “but a male like me needs his mate for such things. At least for the first time. Do you know about a demon male’s seal?”
“Vaguely.”
“I won’t spill semen until I claim my destined female. But after my seal is gone, I can plant my seed in any field—except a fey’s.”
“Because of banebloods.”
Sian nodded. For millennia Rune had cursed his nature. When members of the Møriør had delved into the archer’s mind to be brought up to speed with this time, Rune couldn’t conceal the depth of his frustration and shame over his black blood.
Sian’s looks might be repulsive, but Rune had been poisonous to everyone, always on his guard not to harm another by accident.
Now the archer’s entire existence had changed. “My friend Rune believed he would never have a mate, but he has found his female at last.”
“Another dark fey? I thought they were rare.”
“They are.” Banebloods were usually killed at birth. “But his mate is a halfling who is immune to him.” Rune’s vampiric female couldn’t get enough of the black blood running through his veins.
“And you never found your mate in all this time?”
Sian waved to the seat at his right. “Do you see a queen by my side?”
“What if you never find her?”
“I could wed. I might make some lucky demoness my queen through a binding ceremony.” Would Pandemonians recognize another female as queen while his mate still lived? Would his red-blooded heirs be recognized?
Not that Calliope herself would ever be. The Vrekeners might accept a sorceress for their queen, but the hostile hell demons would never—could never—show fealty to a monarch without horns.
In an impudent tone, Calliope said, “Or perhaps you prefer to stick to your harem?”
“I plan to wed and keep my harem of twelve.”
Her lips thinned.
Nettling her amused him to a surprising degree. “Do you oppose the institution?”
“Of marriage?”
“Of harems.”
Her eyes flashed. “In your case, I find it—how should I put this?—predictably antiquated.”
“Antiquated?”
With a challenging arch to her brow, she said, “It seems that servicing twelve females would require a lot of time and devotion. If satisfying them was a priority.” She leaned in and added in a confiding tone, “But then, older males don’t often aspire to impossible goals.”
His lips twitched. “I can provide references from them, if you’re inclined to join their number.”
Her haughty smile made his cock stiffen even more. “You must expect this very dimension to freeze over.”
He had to raise his goblet to disguise his grin.
“I’d never share a male like that.”
He shrugged. “Pity.”
“How would that work anyway? Would you put your wife into the rotation?”
“Depends on how much she pleasured me,” he said.
“Would you take your concubines to your marriage bed?”
“No need. I’d go to them. They occupy one of Graven’s towers, living in luxury.” He assumed.
“Can we cut to the chase? Why did you invite me to dinner?”
Because absolute boredom drains my life force more than anything else. Because it enlivens my decaying mind to be near you. “I told you. To learn more about my prisoner. And I didn’t issue an invitation. I issued a command.”
“You can learn all you want, but you’ll always despise me just for being a fey.”
“Maybe, Calliope, I’m looking for reasons not to despise you.”
She clearly hadn’t expected that answer. “Then maybe, Abyssian, I’ll look for reasons not to despise you as well.”
“Now that we have that settled, shall we dine?” At his words, dishes materialized in front of them, a bounty of food.
“Are you wielding magic to create this dinner?”
“I do have servants.” Though an army of them had cooked this feast, magic summoned the fare to appear here.
“These are all . . . fey dishes.” She gazed at him with a soft expression that would’ve made a lesser demon shudder with pleasure.
Kari had once cast him that same expression. He was ashamed to admit how much it’d affected him. He’d fantasized about earning that look again as much as he had about claiming her.
“Thank you, Abyssian.”
Not trusting his voice, he inclined his head. Damn her. Do not get seduced, Sian.
She began to eat, nearly purring over the herb salad. The taste of buttery bread drizzled with honey made her lids grow heavy.
He had no appetite for this foreign food, so he downed his demon brew and watched her savoring love affair with her meal.
Transitioning immortals were sensation seekers, constantly testing their new perceptions; this one’s body seemed to be vibrating as she sampled one dish after another. Her chest was flushed, her nipples stiff against the silk of her gown.
He pulled at his collar. Did she realize how erotic she appeared when eating? He had his answer when she licked honey from her thumb with a sheepish grin.
No, she did not. Her sensuality was innate.
For the main course, a platter of pheasant and roasted vegetables materialized. With her first bite, she gave an audible moan that made him shift in his seat.
Over the last hour, the agreeable ache in his shaft had escalated into unenjoyable pressure. “I suspect you’re in the grips of overstimulation, are you not?”
Her cheeks went red. Even the tips of her ears pinkened. “What makes you say that?”
He found he liked stealing blushes from her. “Oh, not a thing.”
“Any other suspicions about me you’d like to voice?”
“That you’re a virgin.”
Her face blazed in confirmation.
“Your former male failed to seduce you.”
“Why are you so certain he tried to?”
“Because in his position, I would do naught else.” How easy life would prove if he’d been born a fey like her. He’d once been ready to look like her kind, act like them. He would’ve sacrificed anything for her.
“Can we change the topic from my sex life to one more suitable for dinner?”
“Certainly. As long as we follow up after dessert.” Glare. “You have a stout appetite for so slight a creature.” Smirking over his cup, he said, “Of course, when one plans to escape from hell, one needs to build up strength.”
“When one doesn’t know if one will receive another edible meal, one eats more.” She took a large bite, chewing with exaggeration.
He just stopped his lips from curling. He liked this boldness in her. Yet it differed from Kari’s. The princess’s had come from the absolute belief in her own superiority. Calliope simply got so mad she grew heedless of consequences, her temper truly demonic.
Which appealed. He wanted to kiss her when her eyes went teal with fury.
She said, “You seem to be drinking more than eating.”
He raised his cup. “Sylvan fare is not my preference.” In Demonish, he murmured, “Though I hunger for a certain fey’s honey upon my tongue.”
Had she blushed again? Surely she couldn’t understand his language. He’d never met a Sylvan who spoke the “cant of slaves.” She must’ve reacted to the tone of his voice.
Dessert proved to be an agony. She would dip a strawberry in cream, then subtly suck the cream off the tip.
Gods almighty. She would be dining at his table every night.
In a throaty voice, she said, “Has anything ever tasted so good?”
He slanted her a look. “Your lips, I’d wager.”
She cast him a sassy grin. “A fool’s bet, because you will never know.”
Challenge accepted, firebrand.
Between bites, she said, “Thank you again for this food. Not that you gave it to me out of kindness. I know you have some agenda.”
“Hmm. What do you think it could be?”
Her brows drew together. Whatever thoughts whirred behind those spellbinding eyes killed her appetite. She pushed her plate away.
Curiosity hammered him.
Her gaze grew distant, and all of a sudden he felt as if he were sixteen again, strangling inside to know her mind was elsewhere—to know she didn’t find him interesting enough to stay engaged with him.
He’d solved mysteries of the godsdamned universe, but her mind was forever unknown to him.
Magic cleared the dishes and refilled her cup. “I don’t have to ask if you’ve enjoyed yourself,” he said to reclaim her attention.
Facing him again, she said, “The wine and food were excellent.”
But not the company? “We’re not without comforts in hell. Still, you must despise it here.”
She shrugged her pale shoulders. “The atmosphere is improving, so that’s a plus.”
“Because the ash is settling?”
“It’s more than that. I don’t know how to explain it. I got a sense of misery and ruin. Death. Now that sense has lifted.”
Because of changes within me?
“How long have you been king of this realm?”
“A new position. Goürlav, my brother, died recently.”
“Were you close?”
“We were at one time.” The worse Goürlav’s appearance had become, the more he’d closed himself off—despite Sian’s efforts over the ages. “He and I were fraternal twins.”
“I don’t see how he could die. Was he as strong as you?”
“Stronger.” Goürlav had become known as the Father of Terrors—because eventually his very blood began to spawn monsters. Will mine? “He lost a death match to a powerful vampire.” Sian had considered vengeance, but the fight had been fair.
“Why would he enter one?”
Goürlav had led Sian to believe that he’d neither wanted nor needed friendship, creating his own solitary lands. After giving up the search for the hellfire, he’d abandoned Pandemonia, leaving the realm running as if it were a clockwork factory. Yet apparently he’d been lonely enough to seek a companion. “He intended to win the hand of a young sorceress, one who’d volunteered to wed the victor.” Regardless of who—or what—prevailed.
Sian shook his head at the absurdity. He felt huge and ungainly next to Calliope’s small perfection; what in the hells had Goürlav been thinking?
Loneliness must have driven him into that death-match ring. My twin died because he was hideous—yet still yearning.
Sian’s gaze took in Calliope’s fine-boned face. My fate as well?
At the end of Goürlav’s life, few would have looked at his gruesome appearance and believed he’d once been a gentle soul with a dream of peace and commerce.
The bloody betterment of all elven- and demonkind!
Changing the subject, Sian said, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me anything about the Møriør. If you hail from Sylvan, you must have heard much about my alliance.”
“From my earliest memories. You’re the bogeymen that bring about the end of the worlds. Fey children have nightmares about the savage hell demon, the fire-breathing dragon, the bloodthirsty vampire, and more. Especially the fey-slayer.”
“Did you have nightmares as a child?”
“You think they ended just because I grew up? Now my nightmares have come true. I’ve been captured by the hell demon and imprisoned in his lair.”
“I haven’t wet my ax with a Sylvan’s blood in millennia. And our archer doesn’t slay your kind indiscriminately. He only kills the royals from Queen Magh’s line.”
“Why?”
“He vowed to stamp out her descendants. Saetth is Magh’s son, and the rest of his kin are like him—evil and vicious. The whole tainted root needs to be destroyed. The worlds will be a much better place without those degenerates.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m to believe Rune only kills royal fey? And only those guilty of viciousness? Is he so infallible as judge, jury, and executioner?”
“Yes, you’re to believe that. There’s little about the fey that he doesn’t know.”
“I read in the Book of Lore that you and your alliance fought the ice demonarchy recently, laying waste to their whole army. Is that true?”
“No. Only four out of our alliance actually fought them.” Allixta had twiddled her thumbs with boredom, her magic unneeded in that conflict.
“According to the book, the archer shot a shock-wave arrow that turned bones to dust. Across the battlefield, demons writhed on the ground like worms, never to regenerate. You were no less deadly, taking out battalions with your ax.”
“That demonarchy was attempting to awaken a malevolent god who once tried to bury all of Gaia in ice. But none of you are old enough to remember that. The Møriør are.” If those demons had succeeded, the apocalypse would be a lot sooner than any in the Lore expected. “We warned them what would happen should they stand against us. We always warn them.”
She tilted her head, as if she didn’t know whether to believe him.
“What else have you heard about my alliance?”
“Rumor says Orion the Undoing can detect weaknesses in everything and everyone.”
True. “Is that the rumor?” Sian would never give this female information that wasn’t commonly known. And he’d reveal no weaknesses—history wouldn’t repeat itself—but then, the Møriør had very few. “Our leader’s powers are unimaginable. Any who challenge him are doomed to failure.”
“The Møriør’s base is supposed to be a dimension that moves through space and time.”
“It’s called Tenebrous, and that’s no secret.” The war room in Perdishian—Orion’s black-stone castle there—had a wall of glass through which one could see worlds flashing by.
“Many believe the Møriør’s dragon can incinerate an entire realm.”
Also true. “King Uthyr is a long-term visitor here at the castle.”
Voice scaling higher, she said, “Do the others visit often?”
“They rarely travel to Pandemonia,” he told her, noting the relief in her expression. She should be afraid of them. But . . . “You are currently with the Møriør who poses the greatest threat to you.”
She shot him another glare. “I have heard a lot about your alliance, but I could never determine one thing: what do the Møriør want?”
“To stop the apocalypse.”
“Stop it? You bring the doom.”
He shook his head. “We herald it. The Vertas alliance is led by Nïx the Ever-Knowing, a madwoman who seems bent on destroying this universe. She foolishly believes she can match Orion in power.” Her counterintuitive maneuvering left the Møriør scratching their heads. If Orion was known as the Undoing, Nïx should be known as the Unpredictable. “Yet so many in Gaia—including the fey—foolishly trust her. We will stop her. We will right the balance.”
“By enslaving us all? By annihilating our way of life and burning our realms to the ground?”
“By defeating and governing you. We journeyed from the Elserealms to Gaia solely for that purpose.”
“Do you intend to govern us like you did the legions who’d gathered below? I think the word you’re looking for is oppress.”
Irritation simmered. “I might have . . . intimidated them so they would return to Slaughter Gorge, to resume their interminable punishment.”
“That sounds dire.”
“It should be. They took part in an uprising against my sire, so Devel punished them diabolically.”
“How so?”
“He divided them into two armies, banishing half to an inferno on one side of the valley and half to an abyss on the other. Each of their strongholds contained a locked portal that led out of hell and a golden key.”
“Let me guess: the key only worked on the opposite army’s portal.”
Sian was impressed. “Just so. Their desire to leave hell embroiled them in eternal strife. They’ve battled each other every night for millennia.” At least until the Vrekener queen had somehow stolen both keys. All Melanthe had wanted was the godsdamned gold.
“Millennia? You didn’t think they’d served a long enough punishment?” Calliope asked, incredulous. “So you sent them back for more?”
“Eternal means eternity.” Sian had replaced the keys, starting the whole thing back up again.
“What about forgiveness? Or peace?”
“Demons don’t forgive, and peace is overrated. War is what I live for. I have the disposition for battle and a body designed for killing.” He took a drink. “Let me guess: you don’t believe in war.”
“Only when it can’t be avoided and it ends in peace. You’re planning to invade Sylvan, but you don’t have to. Is there anything in the universe that I could do or say to keep you from attacking?”
Careful, Calliope, you could give a demon dangerous ideas. What did he want more? Payback against Sylvan, or its former princess in his bed?
He intended to have both. “I will enjoy my long-awaited revenge.”
“Then fey children are right to be afraid of you.” Did younglings truly fear them all? “What will you do when you conquer the kingdom?”
“So certain of my victory?”
She rolled her eyes.
He liked that she understood his might. “After wiping out any resistance, I will free the demons of that land, then enslave the fey nobility. I daresay you’re a member of the Sylvan gentry.”
“I daresay I’m already a slave.”
Gods, her insolence was sexy. Excitement continued to burn away his ennui.
“I would support your first decree,” she said.
“Would you indeed?”
She nodded. “If I were queen, I’d liberate all the demons.”
“You mean those serfs?”
Her cheeks flushed, his barb hitting home. “I was young when I left the kingdom. I might not have understood Sylvan as well as I’d thought.”
Her admission surprised him. “But you wouldn’t support my second decree? Do you not think the fey overlords deserve a like punishment for enslaving others?”
“If you did that, you would be duplicating the worst thing that kingdom ever did.”
“Your actions were critical to the success of that slave raid!”
“I’m not Karinna.” Seeming to rein in her temper, she said, “You don’t have to be that kind of ruler. Don’t do this, Abyssian.”
“What do you know of ruling? Or of anything?”
“What do you know? You’ve been king for just a short while, and your first decree is war? No, wait—that’s your second. Your true first was doubling down on an eternal punishment.” Tone dripping with sarcasm, she said, “Your royal record will be unmatched in history.”
If Sian hadn’t fucked up so dearly in the past, Goürlav’s record would’ve been historic. After his brother had been forced to abandon all those subjects, the young, idealistic king had lost any desire he’d had to make changes.
He’d shouldered all the blame for families being torn apart, and for what had happened to Sian. “Dear gods, brother, how could they have . . . your horns were . . . ?” Goürlav hadn’t even been able to say the word: amputated. “They will never grow back . . . and I forced you to go there.” Sian had handed Goürlav his bloodied horns, telling him, “Cast these away. I never want to see them again.”
To this day, he had no idea what Goürlav had done with them.
Calliope said, “If you’re going to defeat and govern, then decree instead that the fey and demons live in peace together. Make the kingdom an example of what could be.”
“The Sylvans would never live like that. They consider every other species inferior. Did your family not raise you to believe that?”
“I can think for myself.” Five words Kari would never have uttered.
“Come, you must believe the practices of other species are savage. For instance, a demon’s claiming bite.”
“I’d say it’s fairly common. The Lykae and vampires do it too.”
“If you were mate to a Lykae, would you let him mark your flesh?”
“If I loved and trusted him, I would,” she said, astounding Sian. “But . . .”
“But what?” Of course she would qualify such a statement.
“I don’t think it’s fair. Why don’t females ever get to bite? If I wore a mark, I’d make my man get a tattoo or something.”
“A tattoo,” he rasped. “To make things fairer.”
“Was that too progressive for a relic like you?”
Imaginings ran riot in his mind. Her baring her neck to receive his fangs . . . while he plunged his shaft inside her . . . on the brink of spilling for the first time . . .
The visual had made him hard as hell metal, his fangs now aching along with his cock. He scrubbed his palm over his mouth. Calliope dredged up hopes best left buried.
How had he gone from his plan to use and discard her to fantasizing about claiming her as his own?
What if she returns different?
He shook his head hard. What was more likely—that his mate would welcome a male’s bite or that she was weaving a web of deception even now?
Had she figured out she was his? He hadn’t exactly concealed his attraction, yet she’d never brought up the possibility. “If you have your own views on other species, what do you make of demons?”
“If I based my opinion on my experiences with you, I would assume all demons are violent and unnecessarily cruel. But I don’t believe in wholesale hate, attributing the deeds of one to many.”
Who was this creature? “Violent and cruel?” What had Uthyr said? There’s a difference between trickery and cruelty. “Guilty as charged. I come by both honestly; I am the king of hell.”
She sighed. “I used to think that way.”
“What way?”
“That we can only be as we’ve always been. Maybe in time your mind-set might expand.”
“And if I’m satisfied with how I am?”
“Then you’ll never grow.”
He drank, masking his reaction to her. Talking to her like this made his heart speed up. Being with her made the years fade away, until he felt . . . young.
But young meant trusting, which he would never be again. “You’re one to speak of growing,” he bit out. “You were the most intolerant female I’ve ever met.”
“How old was Karinna when she died?”
“Twenty-four. Your age,” he said, only to frown. Yet you plan to send her away, outside of your reach? That would also mean outside of his protection. At the thought of losing her, his wings tensed. He yearned to have his mate safeguarded within them.
“How do you know she wouldn’t have changed in her thirties? Her forties? Her hundreds? Karinna died before she ever had the chance to grow.”
His mind began to race. Could a young female like Calliope be shaped into the queen he wanted and deserved? Perhaps she’d been returned to him for just that purpose!
What if he could teach this adaptable fey? Bend her to his will? He swallowed. A future might still be possible. “On the surface you seem different in this life. Though this could be an act.” How could he shape what he couldn’t even get his arms around? “For all I know, you’ve remembered the past and are deceiving me right now. You were an exceedingly skilled liar.”
Temper erupting, Calliope shoved back from the table and shot to her feet. “I’m not that fucking princess!” Her eyes blazed teal.
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off: “Even if I share a soul with her, I’m not her. I don’t remember that life, don’t want to. And I’m sick of taking the blame for others’ actions.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?” He wished she could pass some test to allay his suspicions. At that moment, he realized Uthyr was right. Sian did have a stranglehold on a lifeline of hate. For all these ages, it’d kept him sane.
So what will happen if I release my hold?
She strode to the hearth. As she paced in front of the fire, flames reflected off her golden gown. “I’m sorry you and others were hurt by Princess Karinna. But that’s your past, not mine. I don’t claim it. My name is Calliope. Lila to my friends.”
“Lila.” He liked the way her pet name felt on his tongue.
As if she hadn’t heard him, she said, “Since I haven’t done anything, you don’t have the right to hold me here against my will.”
“Might makes right,” he said, because he had no credible counter to her words.
“Might won’t keep me imprisoned—because wits always win.”
He stood, staring her down. “Calliope, understand me: you will never escape this realm.”
She boldly held his gaze. “Abyssian, understand me: I will escape you, and when I do, I will leave rubble in my wake!” As she spoke, the fire flared behind her, twin spires above her head that resembled horns.
His breath left him. She looked like a queen.
A queen of hell.