by Elena Lawson
There’s too much unsaid in it. It’s strained. Tepid.
I find him as my eyes adjust, running a hand down his arm until a tacky smear just below his elbow catches my fingers. I know the smell, so I don’t have to look, but I do anyway.
His hands are coated in half-dried blood and smears of it mar his arms all the way to the crooks of his elbows. There are spatters over his tunic, too. And when he lifts his head, I can see that there’s an arc of more vibrant red just below his jaw.
Blood didn’t spurt like that on its own. A chill passes over me, raising the hairs on my neck.
“Zak?” I ask.
“I’ve made an example out of him.”
Dead, then. Good.
Unperturbed by the blood, I take his tacky hand in mine and wordlessly lead him through the carnage of his bedroom toward the bathroom.
He can’t go to bed like this. He’ll ruin the sheets. I’m not sure why that matters, but right now, it’s one thing I can control. One thing I can actually help with. So, I do.
I flick on only one of the two light switches in the bathroom, illuminating only the small scones on the wall next to the mirror above the double-sinked vanity. It’s enough to see by but not assaulting to the eye. I consider the tub, but with the sheer amount of crimson covering Kincaid, it’s just not a good idea. Not unless he wants to soak in bloody water.
It takes me a couple of minutes to get the water running just right in the giant glass-encased shower. There are too many buttons and levers, but eventually I get it to a temperature just below scalding and have the water gushing from the large oval showerhead hanging above as well as the regular showerhead set high up on the midnight blue tiles.
The breath whooshes from my lungs as I’m swept inside, passing through a stream of hot water until my back connects with the tile wall. Kincaid pins me there, breathing heavily as he glares into my eyes.
Water rushes over his black hair and down his neck, washing away the blood from his collarbone, soaking through his clothes and mine.
“Why?” he demands, breaths sawing out between bared teeth.
“Why what?”
My blood sings with adrenaline and my chest meets his with every heavy inhale. Wet hair falls into my eyes and the hot water soaks me all the way through every layer of my clothes now.
“Why are you doing this?”
I don’t know what he means. “I-I’m not doing anything,” I argue.
“You are doing everything.”
His grip on my wrists tightens, pressing them harder into the steam-warmed tile.
I don’t break eye contact as he brings his face closer to mine. For a heart-wrenching second, I think he’s going to kiss me, and I’m afraid I might spontaneously combust if he does, but he stops just shy of it, his breath whispering over my wet lips, softer now.
“Why would you willingly risk yourself…”
He isn’t asking me. I’m not sure he wants to know the answer. But I’ll give it to him anyway.
“You aren’t what I thought you were.”
Kincaid looks doubtful at my response, his eyes narrow. “Not the monster you imagined?” he asks, and his voice drips with disdain.
I shake my head, remembering my own glee at seeing Ford dead on that metal slab at the morgue. Remembering how it felt to rip the souls from the bodies of the Old Crones at The Freakshow.
…my lack of caring at the fact that my demon is covered head to toe in someone else’s blood. That even now, it stains the bed of the shower a muddy pink.
“Not any more of a monster than I am.”
“You’re wrong,” he says, but I don’t think I am.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more right.
I shake my head again, scattering droplets of water over his chest. I’m not sure what I was about to say but it’s lost to the press of his mouth on mine. Hot and insistent, he kisses me with a passion bordering on insanity.
My arms come free from his hold, but before I can lower them, he’s tugging on the hem of my shirt. It peels off my skin, and he lets it fall to the floor with a wet slop.
The rest of our clothes swiftly follow, and he presses himself to me, the silky slide of our bodies against one another driving me mad. I gasp and tremble, the chaotic onslaught of sensation and emotion unwinding me from the inside out.
His hands slide to my waist, and he presses himself into my hips, his hard length brushing against my belly. I tip my head back in a moan, but he swallows it up with another kiss. My head spins, and I’m surprised I remember how to breathe as my hand moves low between our slick bodies, wanting to feel his erection.
As my fingertips brush over his tip, he groans. And as I wrap them around his girth, he shudders, thrusting into my palm. Our lips come apart, and he stares down into my eyes, breathing heavily. The unspoken question passes between us, and I nod fervently.
“I want you,” I manage, my voice no more than a broken utterance of words. I sound unsure, but the truth is, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire miserable life.
Kincaid’s golden gaze never falters, keeping scrutinous watch on me as he runs his fingers down my torso, eliciting shivers in their wake even though I’m so hot I feel like I might melt down the drain.
When he reaches my throbbing sex, he exhales lustily, finding it already slick with its own silky wetness. When he pushes two fingers inside deliciously slow, I think I might die of wanting him. My hips move against his fingers, trying to urge him to go deeper, faster, but he splays a hand over my belly, pinning me there as he teases little sounds from my body.
His smirk tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I think two can play at this game. I redouble my efforts on his cock, pumping my hand up and down on his shaft. I have no idea if I’m doing it right, but judging by how his jaw tightens and his eyes close in ecstasy, I have to assume I’m doing it right.
If he keeps doing what he’s doing, I’m going to shatter; I can already feel it coming, making my legs clench and my toes curl.
“Kincaid.” I moan, and he withdraws, bringing me back from the edge. I cry out at the loss, but he’s already shifting, nudging my legs apart with one of his thighs as he dips down, strong arms lifting me, guiding my legs around his waist.
His erection sits level with my folds, and I grip him tight, nervous but so so ready. He only hesitates for a moment before pressing my back hard into the wall and guiding his cock inside. It’s slow at first, and I can feel everything as his thick girth stretches me, pushing in and in and in until he’s seated inside me to his hilt and I let loose a shuddering breath against his throat, fingers digging into the solid muscle of his back.
It hurts. Burns. But I don’t want him to stop.
The next thrust isn’t nearly as gentle as he rears out and slams back in with a grunt, filling me in a way that makes me ache. The pleasure-pain sensation is splintering something inside me, and the next time he thrusts I cry out, leaning in to bite down on his neck to keep from screaming. That only seems to turn him on more. He pumps into me harder and faster, driving my pelvis into the wall with each thrust.
His hands curl around my thighs, holding me open for him as he drives into me wildly, savagely.
I tip my head back in a whimpering pant; my breaths come faster now than even the staccato rhythm of my heart racing in my chest. Kincaid presses his lips to mine, his teeth dragging over my lower lip until I taste the tang of blood and he sweeps in, his tongue drawing another splintering moan from deep within.
He slows his thrusts as he kisses me, pausing to grind his hilt against my slick mound, teasing the bud until I feel a quickening sensation awaken in my core. A flood of warmth pools in my womb and I have to pull back from my demon’s lips, needing the oxygen to stop my head from spinning.
“That’s it, Na’vazēm,” he whispers against my cheek, “Come for me.”
He increases the pace, propelling me higher, winding me tighter for the release. I’m going to fall.
He devours the sound of my release with his mouth, moving against me as my climax thunders through me, sending sparks of color flashing against my eyelids until I sag in his arms, utterly spent. I listen to the drumbeat sound of his heart as he holds me to him, sensing his soul reach out to mine from some dark place deep within.
18
Something wakes me in the night. It can’t have been very long since we fell into bed because my pillow is still damp from my hair, and I can still feel the memory of Kincaid inside me so clearly I have to wonder if he might still be.
The ache between my legs and low in my belly makes me squirm anew, reaching out sleepy hands to find him in the bed. But they come up empty, and I hear the rustle of denim over skin, and I force my eyes to open.
“What are you doing?” I mumble, blinking the sleep from my eyes. “Come back to bed.”
I’m hungry for him still, I realize. Even with the mild aching pain inside, I want to do it again. Now. When Kincaid doesn’t answer me, I prop myself up on an elbow and force my body to wake.
“I can’t, Na’vazēm.”
When he bends to pull on his boots as well, my desire ices over with something far more potent and much less pleasing. “Where are you going?”
He comes to kneel by the bedside and draws my hands to his lips, brushing them over my bony knuckles. “It’s Lucifer. He calls me home.”
“What? Lucifer? As in the devil?”
“He is my commander,” Kincaid replies, and though he tries for a light tone, maybe even for sarcasm, it falls flat. Sounds strained. “I won’t be long. He’s demanded my return to Hell. I assume for an audience about Malphas and Dantalion. It was only a matter of time before he found out.”
I’m wide awake, and the blankets fall from my body as I sit up, swinging my legs off the bed.
“When will you be back.”
He shakes his head.
“Can’t you just say no? Stay here?”
He frowns. “No, Na’vazēm. I cannot.”
I get up and begin searching the floor for my clothes before remembering it’s all still sopping wet in the bottom of the shower. “Well then I’m coming with you. I just need to go get some cloth—”
“No,” he growls, the guttural sound enough to make me pause before I can exit the room. “As far as I’m aware, Lucifer does not know of your existence. I’d keep it that way.”
He comes to me, pulls me to him. I shudder against the cool denim, not yet warmed by his flesh, but let him embrace me. “Why don’t you want him to know?”
“I’m not sure what he’d do,” Kincaid admits, whispering the words against the top of my head. “You shouldn’t be able to travel between realms. He’ll want to know why. He’s been searching for a way out of the pit since his last escape.”
“He’ll think I’m somehow his way out?” I venture a guess, not liking how that sounds.
He nods against my temple. “Something like that. I’m not prepared to take any chances. You’ll stay here. And I will return as swiftly as I’m able.”
I wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze tight before letting him go. “Train,” he orders me. “Train as hard as you can as carefully as you can, and do not leave this house. I’m going to leave word with my guards to set up a watch perimeter outside.”
I open my mouth to speak but have no idea what to say. I hate the insinuation that I’ll have time to train while he’s gone, which means he won’t be back in twenty minutes, or even an hour. Or even a day.
My chest caves in on itself as he walks out the door, leaving me feeling oddly small. Like he’s taken a piece of me with him.
I don’t sleep the rest of the night. I pace and worry for hours before deciding that is an entirely useless waste of my time and go to find clothes and drag a comb through my hair. I’m already in the sitting room, satiated from a half-decent breakfast of apple and stale bagel, when Lady Devereaux hobbles down the stairs.
She lifts her gaze to me as she enters and with a pursed lip nod, she says, “Good. Let’s begin.”
We start with the basics, and Artemis comes down to join us some time just before noon.
Lady Devereaux allows me to use her Diablim soul as a training dummy of sorts, but only allows me to go so far. We don’t use the Scepter because she wants to get a better gauge of my abilities without its magnification.
She doesn’t admit it, but when it only takes me two tries to gently lift the edges of her soul from her body, I can tell she’s impressed.
We work on energy exchange for a time after that, having no other living things to practice on that we wouldn’t mind killing by accident. Artemis suggests using a rat or a mouse and Lady Devereaux sends him down to the basement to find some.
Truly, I think she did it to get rid of him and stop his incessant asking of a million questions, but I don’t say that. I hope he doesn’t find any mice, even though I know many live in the walls of the mansion. They tried to steal my food just after Kincaid purchased me and brought me here. And I hear them scratching in the walls at all hours of the night.
I don’t want to kill one, though. They’re too cute. They didn’t do anything wrong.
Now, if Artemis could somehow procure a serial killer from the basement, I’d be happy to use that soul as practice.
“Pay attention,” Lady Devereaux tuts, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
I groan.
“You need to draw the energy of the spirits, but keep their influence at bay. You keep letting them in up here,” she knocks on my skull, and I flinch, batting her hand away, “when you need to let their energy flow through here.” She jabs me in the chest, and I rub the spot, glaring at her.
“I just need a minute,” I say through bared teeth. My focus started waning sometime around the sixth hour, and now at the ninth, my brain feels like mush.
I need lunch, but judging by the slant of light outside the broken window where one of Kincaid’s henchmen stands guard, it’s closer to supper.
“You won’t get a minute out there,” she argues. “So I won’t give you one in here.”
I roll my eyes, earning myself a spiritual slap. She pulls back on my soul as though it were an elastic band and lets it snap back into place. It’s disorienting and burns as it settles back into the chasm of my physical body. I hate it.
And she knows it.
“If you try to draw energy from spirits but don’t block them, you’ll be possessed every day to Sunday. And if you don’t try, I’ll let them ride you into the dirt without batting an eye.”
My shoulders sag, a thousand scathing retorts and curse words I’ve never before uttered threatening to be forcibly evicted from my mouth.
“Try drawing from me instead,” she adds, going back to her armchair. “Try to draw my energy.”
I move to get nearer so that I can touch her, remembering how I needed the contact to be able to draw energy from Artemis the last time, but she lifts a finger to stop me. “Ah-Ah,” she trills. “That’s cheating. Contact makes it easy. You’ll draw my energy from right where you are.”
I inhale deeply to maintain calm and close my eyes, letting out my feelers until I can sense her soul, but that’s not what I’m to draw on, I could end up detaching it. I only want her energy. I try to differentiate between the two, to pull only energy instead of her actual soul, but it doesn’t work, and she hisses as I pull on the wrong thing.
Artemis wanders back into the room empty handed, and she sighs in exasperation.
“Pour me another drink, boy,” she calls to Artemis. “I think we’ll be here a while yet.”
Artemis casts me an apologetic look before vanishing through the library to raid Kincaid’s liquor stash for Lady Devereaux for the third time today.
While he’s gone, I sink onto the carpet and let my body fall back until I’m leaning on my elbows, wishing I could keep going. Tak
e a nap right here on the musty carpet.
I glance to where Artemis is two rooms over, digging through bottles to find more of the Port wine the Necromancer likes.
“There’s something I wanted to ask,” I blurt before I can change my mind.
Her eyes narrow on me. “Well, go on, girl. Out with it.”
“The lords, you said it was spirit magic that was killing them. I was there when Dantalion died. I saw his soul leave his body.”
“Is there a question somewhere in there?”
“If it’s spirit magic that is separating their souls from their bodies, is there any way I could…stop it? Do something to counteract whatever magic is killing them?”
She cocks her head at me and a swath of her silvery hair falls forward, brushing against the wrinkled skin on her chest. “You mean to try to save him, is that it?”
My gaze falls, and I swallow past the lump in my throat, mouth suddenly cotton dry.
Is it stupid to think I could? I don’t know.
What I do know is it would be even stupider if I didn’t do everything I could to try.
“Do you think I could?”
“I can’t answer that until I know what’s causing—”
“There must be a way,” I insist. “Something you could teach me that could help if…”
I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t want to imagine having to watch Kincaid die in front of me and be powerless to stop it.
Lady Devereaux nods slowly, her stare going blank as she thinks. “All right,” she says finally. “We can focus some of our effort on offensive tactics, and how to reanimate a corpse with the soul of the deceased. If you’re to even attempt to reimplant the soul of Dantalion, then you’ll need to begin learning how to now. It took me years to do it just right.”
“We don’t have years,” I say in a breath, a flutter of panic taking wing in my chest.
“I didn’t have a teacher,” she says with a slow-spreading grin and a wink. “And you happen to have the best one on this good green earth.”