by Elena Lawson
“We must talk,” he whispers against the mess of my hair, and I pull back, self-conscious as I climb from his lap and swipe at my cheeks.
“Y-you should bathe first. And sleep.”
He cocks his head at me and a dangerous glint passes over his eyes, reminding me exactly who I’m talking to. Asmodeus. One of the seven lords of Hell. No matter the connection I feel between us—that I think he feels too—nothing will change who and what he is.
Dangerous. A demon.
“If anyone will be bathing this evening, it’s you,” he says, and the playful edge to the words takes some of my doubt away.
“But I’m afraid this cannot wait Na’vazēm. “You’re in danger.”
2
“And you’re not?” I scoff. “I’m no detective, but I’m fairly certain not one but two lords of Hell, unkillable lords of Hell, are dead.”
Guilt punches me in the gut just as swiftly as the reminder of his grief hits him, but I will not apologize.
“You’ve been gone for days, and I’m still here. Unharmed.”
His upper lip curls back, and I fall back a step, seeing the threat in the way his hands darken with the blackness of his demon once more.
“Must you be so insufferable, woman?”
“Must you be so damned cliche?”
“Cliche?”
I throw my hands up. “You’re more worried about my safety when yours is clearly—”
“Stop.” He holds up a hand in warning, and I remember my place, clenching my teeth against a biting retort.
“I’ll not argue with you. I don’t have the patience.”
“Fine.” We could figure out what to do later. His brain is clearly fried. “I’ll run you a bath.”
I turn to cross the room, assuming there’s a bathroom hiding in the shadows beyond an open door at the other end of Kincaid’s chamber.
He snatches my wrist before I can move, though, jerking me to a standstill.
“We can talk later, but we will talk. There is much you need to know. Much we have to do.”
Grimly, I nod.
“Na’vazēm, you are not to leave this house without me. Not even for a second. Do you understand?”
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
I jerk my hand free of his grasp and walk away without answering.
“Paige,” he all but snarls and I halt, shoulders rising as a shiver snakes down my spine. And I must be even more messed up than I thought I was because something in his threatening tone excites me.
“Do you understand?” he repeats.
“Yes, Kincaid,” I reply in a flat monotone before finding the light switch in the bathroom and closing myself inside for some privacy as I catch my breath, falling back against the smooth grain of the door.
I tip my head back and breathe deeply to steady myself. As terrifying as Kincaid can be when he wants to, something inside of me knows that he won’t hurt me. At least not on purpose. Not like Ford did.
And maybe that’s naive. You know what, it probably is, but I don’t care. I want to believe it.
I want to believe it more than I’ve ever wanted to believe anything in my entire miserable existence.
Move, Paige, I tell myself, shoving off from the door to face a wide tiled space with a long porcelain tub crouching at its center. It bows in the middle and is easily the largest I’ve ever seen.
A glass-encased shower stands to one side of the space, and a partition wall hugs around what I assume is a toilet, while a bank of two sinks lies against the wall straight across from me and behind the tub. With raised bowls that look as though they’re made of solid gold.
I kneel as I turn the faucets on, adjusting the hot and cold as I go. Disappointingly, the rush of water gushing from the spigots does little to dull the burgeoning roar of whispers in my head. They get stronger with each passing minute, and I have to work hard to block them, giving myself a headache in the process.
I distract myself with random thoughts, wondering if the water should be hotter since it’s meant to bathe a demon. I mean, he’s used to the heat of Hell. Perhaps he likes his bathwater scalding. Perhaps he doesn’t bathe at all.
The tap handles are a little stuck and I need to rinse a fine layer of dust from the belly of the tub before I’m even able to begin filling it.
Nervous flutters converge in my belly as I hear the click and groan of the door opening at my back and feel Kincaid’s presence as he enters. I feel the water again as the bath edges closer to full, deciding that it does in fact need to be hotter. I turn down the cold tap and gulp, feeling all kinds of uncomfortable.
In my peripherals, I see the shirt I’d been working to remove from Kincaid fall to the floor in a heap, followed swiftly by his pants. The metal buckle of his belt clatters against the cool tile and my mouth goes dry.
Time to go.
I shut off the faucets and get shakily to my feet.
“I’ll see you in the morning?”
I meant for it to be a statement, and yet it leaves my lips as a question. A pleading one at that. I need to hear him say he’ll be here when I wake up, or I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep at all.
Hell, sleep may be out of the question regardless at this point.
“In the morning?” His rich voice fills the space, expanding through the room until I can feel the press of it like warm breath on my cheek. “No, Na’vazēm. I’ll not have you leave my side. Not tonight.”
I stiffen, wanting so badly to fight him. To tell him I won’t stay.
But the truth is: I want to.
“Come. Bathe.”
My head snaps up, lips parting as I take in Kincaid’s body. He stands without a scrap of clothing to cover him and dips two fingers into the bathwater, a small groan of pleasure rumbling in his chest that does all kinds of things to my nerves.
His yellow eyes cut to me for an instant, and a little smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. I wonder how I must look, gaping at him, completely unable to stop staring at his cock and the powerful lines of his body. I’ve never seen a man naked, at least never more than illustrations in textbooks or romantic movie scenes.
“I nearly forgot,” he says offhandedly, sliding himself into the water with a sigh.
“Forgot what?”
“How prude mortals are.”
And I’d nearly forgotten how demons and demon-kind seemed to have not so much as an ounce of modesty.
“I’m not mortal,” I reply, taking his comment for what it is. A challenge.
I strip down to my panties before pausing, finding myself unable to remove the final garment despite the bravery of a second before. My nipples pebble at the rush of cool air as I discard my sweater and tank top, stepping into the tub with a hiss at the temperature.
Kincaid stares at the double sinks as I sink below the water-level, nearly causing it to slosh out of the sides. I’d accounted for one body to be submerged, but not two.
I blush as my breasts bob in the water, and he turns back to face me, the minute of considerate privacy he gave me spent.
His hungry gaze roams over my face and down to the mounds of my breasts, but no lower.
A scared little voice in my head shouts, “now what,” over the din of incoherent whispers battling in the background.
My legs brush against and tangle with Kincaid’s. The soft, slippery feeling of our wet bodies against one another almost undoes me, and I have to sink a little lower into the water and tip my head back to keep myself sane.
A soft growl emanates from where he sits opposite me, arms lazily splayed against the edges of the tub. “Control yourself, Na’vazēm, or I cannot promise to stop myself.”
I level a heated stare on his lips. “And if I don’t want you to stop yourself?”
He bares his teeth and lurches forward, startling me as his hands slip up to my forearms, effortlessly spinning me in the water until my back is pressed against his and I can feel the bulge of his erection against my lower back.
&nbs
p; “Be still,” he commands, and aside from the raucous beating of my heart and the quick rise and fall of my chest, I do as I’m told, my hands clenched to a bruising tightness against my belly.
He releases me, and I hear the pop of a cap and turn to see him draw up a bottle from the side of the tub that’d been concealed from me when I walked in.
“I said be still,” he reaffirms.
I start as he presses gently down on my shoulders, tipping my chin back so my hair is beneath the water and my face is bared to him. His eyes trace the lines of my lips as he strokes his fingers through my hair quickly and then helps me back up.
He lathers a rich shampoo through my hair, using the tips of his fingers to massage my scalp as he goes. I lean into him despite his command to remain still and this time he doesn’t berate me. When he’s finished, he rinses it out and repeats the process with conditioner.
Showing more patience than I thought him capable of.
Something in my expression as he rinses the spice-scented conditioner from my hair makes him pause, and I open my eyes to find a crease between his brows. With my ears beneath the water, the voices in my head strengthen, making it even more difficult to tune them out.
“What is it?” Kincaid asks as I lift my head.
I squint my eyes against the ever-growing ache behind my eye- cavities and shake my head. “It’s nothing. Just…the voices. They’re getting harder to block.”
“Is it…”
“No. I don’t hear them.”
To be fair, I wasn’t trying to, but if Dantalion or Malphas are somehow in this room with us right now, while I’m naked between their brother’s legs in a bathtub, I think I’d rather not know.
“You stupid bitch!”
One of the voices breaks off from the whole, gaining clarity. I shove it back, but it only surges forward again.
“Let me in,” it cries, and my blood goes cold as I fight off the sensation of icy fingers clawing at my skull. Of a foreign presence filling a gap I didn’t know existed.
“Paige?”
“Can they get in?” I ask in a rush, whirling to face him. “Can they possess me?”
His angular jaw goes slack at my question, and it’s the only answer I need.
“Hold on.” He grunts, disentangling himself from me as he lifts from the water, uncaring that he’s soaking the floor as he flings a towel around his waist and lurches out the door.
“Let me in!” the voice in my head shouts, and I grit my teeth, gripping my head between my palms.
“No.” I groan. “Get out.”
Vaguely, I remember something in the book on Necromancy that Kincaid gave me to read about this, but the memory is distant, and I can’t reach it. I haven’t looked at that book since we returned from the Midnight Court. Like an idiot, I sat and waited in the dank cold of the basement for Kincaid to return instead of doing anything useful.
“Here.” Kincaid’s return alarms me enough that water sloshes out of the tub again when I jump. He tugs my right hand from my temple, and I feel the cool rub of beads as he tugs them onto my wrist.
I try to recoil, but he holds fast, forcing bracelet after bracelet onto my wrist until all the bracelets Ford gave me are back on. I want to barf at the very sight of them.
But…the voices…
I stop struggling, letting my hand rest in his as he hunches next to the tub. “How?”
I can still hear them, but it’s almost as if I’m back in the basement. Embraced by stone and mortar. In the back of my head, they buzz like a swarm of wasps around a hive. But they can’t get in. They are firmly outside.
My shoulders slump, and I lie back against the tub, my hand slipping from Kincaid’s.
“How did you know?”
“I noticed them the first time I saw you. Peculiar that a mortal should be wearing shadow beads when the only place that particular stone can be found is in Hell.”
I lift my arm from the water, staring at the tiny smooth gems with new eyes.
“I wasn’t certain that’s what they were, but I am now.”
I always thought they were peculiar. The texts I had on gemstones didn’t show any quite like these. Obsidian black but with a multitude of colors hidden beneath if viewed in the correct light.
“They block spiritual attack,” Kincaid explains. “Against a very strong spirit, I doubt they would be enough, but it seems for now, they are.”
“Ford knew exactly what I was,” I mutter, the words more for myself than for him. A deep ache forms in my chest. “He knew, and he tried to condition me against it. Like he thought if he just—”
I can’t continue as my hands ball to fists and an entirely different kind of tears burn in my eyes.
“You’re right.” Kincaid snaps me out of my rage with his curious tone. “He knew.”
He stands, wiping a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “He might know something more. Have some clue as to your origin.”
“He’s dead,” I remind Kincaid, realizing a little belatedly what he’s implying. “No.”
Kincaid’s eyes narrow.
“I am not going to speak to his spirit. You can’t make me.”
I stand in a rush, almost slipping in my haste to get out of the tub, still feeling the phantom press of his stare. “I won’t do it, Kincaid.”
“Very well,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest as I rip a towel from a neat stack, sending the rest of them careening to the floor. Hands trembling, I bend to pick them up, fire in my cheeks.
Kincaid stops me with a hand pressed to my back. I flinch away from his touch and scowl, unable to meet his eyes.
“Then perhaps there may be some clue to help us at your home.”
“That place is not my home,” I snap back, pulling the towel tight around my body.
Kincaid’s brows lower, and he steps away, contemplative. “Will you accompany me, or shall I go alone? I wager it’ll be easier to search the house with you there to guide me.”
“But it’s across The Hinge.”
“I did vow to get you across once our bargain is complete. There is a way across. It is not over the river but under it.”
I cock my head at him, picturing a cold, damp tunnel beneath the earth. My pulse quickens as I consider his request. I swore to myself I’d never go back there, but I didn’t have to go to the dead room. I wouldn’t have to go into the room with the chair, or the one with the drain in the floor. I’d just have to guide him through the house. I could fetch some of my things.
My weighted blanket!
For that alone, I’d go.
“Okay,” I murmur.
Brushing my damp hair back from my face, I bite my lip. “But I still think figuring out exactly what or who is responsible for killing lords of the underworld is much more important than—”
His face darkens.
“I’ve already looked,” he interrupts.
I open my mouth to argue, but the look he’s giving me makes whatever I’d been about to say desiccate on my lips.
“My brothers began to vanish after you arrived in Elisium,” he says, and I don’t correct him. They haven’t vanished. They are dead. “I think it’s possible the two events are somehow tied.”
“You don’t think I have anything to do with—”
“If I did, you would be dead.”
Noted.
“What if you’re wrong? What if my arrival here has absolutely nothing to do with the other lords and we’re just wasting time?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Then I will be dead. And you will be free.”
3
I was right. I can’t sleep.
I toss and turn in Kincaid’s bed. It’s much larger than mine, and the fact that it’s empty of him both comforts and frustrates me. What he said just before tossing me a tunic of his to wear to sleep carved out a nook in my head, and I can’t be rid of it.
Then I will be dead and you will be free.
Would I?
Did I want to b
e?
Would I survive if he did not?
The questions surrounding that single sentence drove me to the edge of insanity. Freedom from captivity was all I’d ever wanted, since I’d consciously begun to understand what captivity was and that I was a slave to it.
I groaned, turning back onto my side and forcing my eyes shut as I punched the corner of the pillow into shape.
“Are you always this disturbed in sleep, Na’vazēm?”
“Only when forced to share a room with a demon,” I sling back bitterly.
A chuckle in the dark only serves to further heat the blood already boiling in my veins.
“Glad you think it’s so funny.”
There’s a shift in the shadows, and I squint, easily able to make my Diablim eyes adjust to the dark. Kincaid stands from his makeshift bed on the floor and tips his head to one side, cracking his neck. “If we are to lie awake until dawn, I’d prefer to do it in my own bed.”
I shuffle over to make room for him, a prickle of anticipation raising the hairs on my arms and tightening something low in my belly. “I didn’t ask you to sleep on the floor.”
“I should flog you for the way you speak to me.”
Did he just say…flog? Did people even say that anymore?
I’m aware that I’m overtired, underfed, and—let’s face it—hot for a demon I should hate. That was enough of an excuse to have a shitty attitude, wasn’t it?
Kincaid’s body heat slithers beneath the covers with him, and I shiver, my new side of the bed icy cold by comparison. “Shall we talk now, since it seems neither of us can sleep?”
“Shoot.”
I can hear his smile in the dark.
“You caused quite the stir in Elisium. Word of your ability has reached as far as Aetherium on Earth, and is beginning to spread through the underworld. No doubt the angels are just as curious as the damned.”
“And?”
“And you need to know the threat that poses. Only the seven lords can come and go from Hell and live. Not even Lucifer himself has that luxury.”
“And why is that?”
“We keep order,” Kincaid explains. “Each of us—the lords—commands one of the seven Fallen Cities. The staff I use to travel back and forth was a gift.”