THREE
Graven Castle
The dimension of Pandemonia
I plan to torture her till she begs for mercy,” Sian said as he twirled his great battle-ax. “Make her pay for all her treachery in her past life.”
He and Uthyr, his dragon ally, stood on a terrace high in Sian’s castle. A league below them, demon legions clamored for war.
Sian was feeling just as bloodthirsty. “If Princess Kari’s even been reincarnated.” Merely thinking about the perfidious bitch made his muscles tense. “I have only the word of a soothsayer.”
But he’d always believed. . . .
Uthyr rested on his hind legs and wrapped his spiked tail around his gigantic body. Like all Møriør, he could communicate telepathically: —Your female probably doesn’t even know she’s a reincarnate, could go her whole life without remembering a previous existence. She might have no memory of a betrayal. What then?—
Sian hoped she did remember. If not . . . “I have more than enough memory for both of us.”
Uthyr gave a dragonic sigh, a lazy stream of flame tumbling from his lips. —Will you not tell me your mate’s crimes?—
Even after so long, Sian couldn’t speak about her actions without going into a rage. When he gripped the handle of his ax, he could feel Uthyr studying him.
The dragon shifter had decided to take a sabbatical in Pandemonia, saying he planned to “work on his chess game and visit with the local dragon population.” Most likely he was here to monitor Sian’s declining self-control and increasing aggression.
Sian didn’t care what the shifter did, as long as he didn’t get in the way. “All you need to know is that she betrayed me and every demon of this realm.” Because of her, Sian had been left maimed for ten millennia. Inwardly, he’d been scarred much, much worse.
For eons, he had awaited his revenge, not only on his mate, but on her entire hated species.
Uthyr scratched his neck with the claws of a back paw, shedding a metallic blue-gold scale. —You’ve never doubted she would be reborn. What made you so certain?—
Because he’d had no choice. “When I learned of her death, I vowed to live long enough to see her return.” How else could he have gone on?
He would never forget falling to his knees beside the river of fire, roaring and clawing at his chest, grief and hatred blistering him inside.
—No word on your bounty?—
“Immortals are scouring the universe for her. If she retains her species and her unique appearance”—a fey with one amber eye and one violet—“she will be found.” If not, he would take over the hunt between his next two wars.
In the first campaign, he would fight off an invasion of trespassers. In the second, he would launch his own invasion.
Nothing pleased Sian so well as a good, meaty war, and he was grateful to have conflicts to distract him. Otherwise he would’ve gone mad since learning of his mate’s possible reincarnation.
And since he’d been struck by the hell-change curse.
Upon his brother’s recent death, Sian had reluctantly returned to Pandemonia to assume the crown—and all its disadvantages. He’d started to transform from a male of striking good looks into his most monstrous self.
Whoever ruled hell slowly became hell. The last time Sian looked at his reflection—months ago—a hideous stranger had stared back at him.
His formerly smooth, tanned skin was dark red with glowing glyphs over his chest. His chiseled features had become blunter, more brutal. Mystical hell metal pierced his skin—bars at the bridge of his nose and through his nipples, not to mention other parts of his body.
He’d grown a pair of massive wings that resembled a bat’s. Long black claws tipped his fingers and the toes of his beastlike feet.
For ten millennia, he’d gone without horns—thanks to Kari—but now a new, larger pair had emerged, more menacing even than before. A wide swath of skin surrounding his eyes was darkened like a demonic mask. Only the color of his green irises remained the same—unless they went black when he was in the grip of rage.
The hell-change heightened his aggression until he could barely think at times, his most primal demon instincts at the fore. Like him, hell was in turmoil. Ever since Sian had learned his mate might be alive, the realm had been plagued with firestorms and lava floods. Ash choked the air. The skies churned.
He rubbed his hand over his still-unfamiliar face. Even if she retained memories of her previous life—unlikely—she wouldn’t recognize him.
All those years ago, he’d believed his mate had felt some measure of attraction to him. Now she would be repelled.
Only one thing could return him to his previous form. But to even contemplate it could bring on madness. . . .
The dragon’s watchful gaze was upon him. —If you can learn to manage these rages, what will looks matter? We Møriør have a mission, demon. We live lives of service.—
“Is that the point of our unending existences?” Sian’s life seemed to be one long wait, measured by an hourglass that gave up a grain of sand every few centuries. “Is service what makes you rise in the mornings?”
—That and television.—
Sian lifted a brow. “Alas, those two enticements have little effect on me.”
—Then what does affect you?—
“A challenge. I can’t remember the last time an enemy landed a blow against any of us.” The Møriør—not even at full strength—continued to rout any opposition with ease. “Our power is vast, but life is long without challenge. I would give my ax to find a worthy opponent.”
Would he ever know a hard-won victory again?
Uthyr shrugged his large wings. —Your thoughts have been grim ever since you learned of your mate’s possible return.—
“I’ve felt this way for some time, but the idea of her resurrection has brought much into glaring relief.”
He’d waited ten thousand two hundred and thirty-four years, three months, and seventeen days for his female to return to him.
What if she truly had? What would happen to him after his vengeance was done?
What would happen to her?
As if it were yesterday, Sian recalled the day he’d met Princess Karinna of Sylvan. He’d been outside the newfound Pando-Sylvan portal when he’d caught her maddening scent from the other side. He’d hurried through the rift to track the thread to its source, suspecting he would find his mate.
The unfiltered sun had stung his eyes, temporarily blinding him. His first sight of heaven had been her face, the first sound her voice. She’d been twenty-four, a practiced flirt, and entrancingly lovely.
He’d been a pup of sixteen. I never stood a chance against her.
He’d trusted in a manipulative, traitorous female and nearly felled a kingdom—
A wave of déjà vu hit him, so strong his body reeled. He could almost scent Kari, as if he were back in Sylvan on that first day so long ago.
How could it be? Did he dream?
His muscles tightened as they did before battle. This was no dream. “By all the dark gods . . .”
Uthyr lifted his snout. —What is it?—
Sian’s lips drew back from his fangs. “The bitch’s scent.”