Her saccharine smile froze. As if remembering I was still standing there, Morgan Le Fay turned her head and stared. Behind her, Ronan frowned. He didn’t know what I was playing at. That made two of us. For as much as Nathalie made fun of my style of planning, though, I would figure this out. I always did.
“Oh? Are you bored with us now, Witch Hunter?” I could practically hear the creeping madness in her tone. She had wanted to send me away anyway, but now that I had her attention, I also had her ire.
Lucky me.
But I was running out of options.
“You said yourself, my best use is bait. You have Nathalie. You have Lucifer. Now you have—” I paused. The name Ronan had been on the tip of my tongue. It was his chosen name. But she didn’t seem to know that, and I wouldn’t be the one to share it. “The Harvester,” I supplied. “You have everything you want, and no use for me. After being drugged, forced to fight in mortal combat, and failing to escape—I’m fucking exhausted. Besides, as you like to remind everyone, I am only human.”
My pulse didn’t change. My gaze didn’t waver. I had no verifiable tells that I was lying through my teeth—at least partly—but her inscrutable gaze made me wonder if she questioned it, or simply questioned why I was speaking at all.
If there was one thing I’d learned about her, it was that she liked to talk. At this point, it was all show for the people in the stands. She captured a demon. I was no longer the same sort of entertainment, which meant my presence could only be used as a bargaining chip to make Ronan dance.
My nerves were too frayed for that. Not unless I wanted to commit suicide via burning her alive. Although, my accelerated healing made me wonder if I’d really die . . . I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t exactly want to test it either.
“You want to go back to your cell? Very well. But first, you must do something for me.”
My stomach dropped. Motherfucker. I just had to say something, didn’t I?
“What?” I said, snappier than I should have been considering the way her lips twisted like she’d bitten something sour.
“Such arrogance,” she said almost wistfully. “That won’t do.” She tapped her chin with her index finger, hips swaying as she strode toward me. “Beg.”
My eyebrows lifted. “For what exactly?”
“For me to let you go back to your accommodations,” she said. I should have dropped to my knees, but instead I froze.
“Or?” I asked quietly.
A wicked glint entered her eyes. “I’ll have you whipped.” She twisted her hand and a cat-o’-nine-tails appeared.
Under ordinary circumstances, I’d rather be whipped.
Pain was temporary, and I now knew my body would heal, but that was just the problem. If my body healed, then she would know I wasn’t human. She would put me in chains like Ronan’s, and then I would be truly powerless and at her mercy. At least this—this was by choice. Until I figured another way out of here, I still had that backup plan. Even if time was running out.
Which meant, despite the way my gut roiled, I dropped to my knees.
Silence filled the arena stands. I could sense Ronan’s eyes on me, but I refused to look.
Flames flickered in my chest, but I doused them with cold water and lowered my forehead to the sand.
My voice was almost animatronic, as I said, “Please let me return to my quarters.”
She tsked. “Is that the best you’ve got? Beg me not to lash you for your cowardice.”
I closed my eyes and tried to calm my beating heart. Fire rose with every breath even though I stuffed it down. I was not a selfless person. Nor was I a coward.
But I also refused to be a hothead that blew my only option in a fit of rage, especially when it might very well end in my death.
I had to do this. I had to—
“Beg me, Witch Hunter. Show the supernaturals gathered here just how lowly you are. Show the Harvester what a mistake of a mate fate gave him. Show them your true colors, you pathetic human.”
My breath quickened.
Fire rose and rose and rose, not wanting to be tamped down.
My hands clenched into fists in the dirt.
Darkness rose alongside fury, the shadows flickering next to my flame.
I had to say it, but I couldn’t form the words. Not even to save my own life.
I might not be human anymore, but I would not disgrace that identity.
I couldn’t.
Not for—
“Think of Nathalie,” Ronan’s quiet voice said. A voice of reason. “Think of Bree.”
My breath came hard in heavy pants. “You can save them,” I said. “You can—”
“I can’t.”
My neck snapped up, and my eyes met his. In those silver depths, I saw he meant it. I might be able to deal with the chains. I could free us both, but he couldn’t save them.
He wouldn’t.
For as much as the words might pain me, knowing that Bree would never wake up, and Nathalie would be used in some sort of sacrifice, would be more painful than I could live with.
I had no choice.
I had to beg.
My head fell to the sand, and I felt a tidal wave had risen inside me to douse the fire and its embers. Until there was nothing left. Nothing but cold, desolate desperation.
“Please, I’m begging you. I’m just . . . just a pathetic human. Please let me return to my accommodations so I can rest. Please don’t whip me.”
The words may have fallen from my mouth, and they may have sounded real.
They were anything but.
In my heart, something else was taking up residence beside the guilt and resentment. A new emotion. One that didn’t simply come from a child’s ignorance and prejudice.
Hatred.
A true hatred.
And I vowed in that moment—for myself, for Bree, and even for Nat—Morgan Le Fay would feel every ounce of it if it was the last thing I did.
21
Lucifer
I counted the passing seconds by the little puffs of breath she released. Her chest rose and fell over a thousand times before a shudder ran through her.
She blinked twice, then opened her eyes.
They were pretty. A shade of brown closer to cider rather than walnuts. They were the eyes of an ex-lover of mine, but the way that she slowly took in her surroundings was anything but. It wasn’t wide-eyed innocence or scalding anger that came to the forefront.
No. It was . . . disappointment.
And despite the pain of a hundred cuts bleeding my body slowly, for the first time since I’d set eyes on Piper Fallon, I found myself intrigued by someone else.
She lifted her arm to wipe the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and she winced at the movement. Her lips pushed together as she swallowed hard. Her pink tongue ran over the cracks forming in the dry skin of her lips as she tried to wet them.
“How long have I been out?” she croaked without looking at me. I regarded her still. My curiosity piqued further.
“Four hours,” I rasped, my own voice equally hoarse, but for a very different reason. “Maybe five. It’s hard to know exactly without a window or clock.”
She nodded once, then put a hand to her temple and let out a grunt. “Did they drop me on my head?”
My muscles were weak. My bones ached. My skin cracked and filled with my blood, but despite the sheer amount of pain I was in, my lips curved upward on their own accord. As if they too took notice of the little witch in our presence.
“One of the women kicked you in the head when the boy left. I believe she was a relative of yours.” My vocal cords twinged with every syllable, but still I forced the words out, keeping any and all emotion from my face. I’d lived thousands of years, and while I’d escaped several close calls, none had ever been this close. The end was near. If the witch was here, it meant they succeeded, and Piper failed.
There would be no rescue. Certainly not from Ronan. No, he would be blood bound to g
o after his atma. His very instincts wouldn’t allow otherwise, but even if he could, he wouldn’t come for me.
I was a means to an end. A barrier between him and his mate. Brother or not, Ronan wouldn’t come for me unless it was to finish the job. This was well and truly the end.
I couldn’t help feeling . . . dissatisfied. For such a long life, it was uneventful. What did I even have to show for it? A few dozen lovers strung along, tens of thousands of supernatural servants, a city, an abundance of wealth—more than one man could need . . . but it was meaningless. Empty.
In the end, Ronan would have the one thing that mattered. Because I fucked that up too.
Luci. Lucifer. The Morningstar. The devil.
A ten-thousand-year-old disappointment.
It was no wonder Aeshma rejected me, and while Piper might have eventually taken me as her atman . . . it was too late for that now too.
The universe threw me a bone, and I pissed all over it instead of wooing her like I should have. How I was supposed to woo a girl whose world I was the sole cause for destroying, I’m not sure. But I could have. I should have.
And it was too late.
So I used the last of my energy to focus on something other than that.
It was a strange and pleasant surprise to find that while the little witch may not have looked like much at first glance, there was something there at the second. Something in the way she spoke. The way she reacted.
Her eyes may have been a shadow from my past, but the way she looked through them was new, and despite the impending death waiting for us—I was intrigued.
She tipped her head back and let out a chuckle. Hoarse, but sultry. “Carissa,” she said after a moment. “She never liked me.”
“Why?” I asked, turning my face fully to stare at her. She pulled herself up to lean back against the brick wall for support. Her hair was messy from sleep and dirt smudged her cheek. Her left eye was dark and sunken in. That blue-purple splotch discolored around her cheekbone and temple, turning an angry red around the edges.
“I’m different. Weird. My magic sucks, but instead of apologizing for it, I moved on. I became my person, and I think at the heart of it, that’s why she doesn’t like me. Even with shitty magic, I made a life for myself, and she’s just a pretty puppet on a string.”
There was no resentment in her tone. No residual anger. Not even sadness. She spoke matter-of-factly and shrugged when she was done, before going back to looking around our prison.
“You don’t seem very upset for someone that was kicked in the face,” I said after a moment.
“There’s no point in getting angry,” she replied without looking in my direction. Her forehead scrunched in concentration as she regarded the four brick walls that surrounded us, and the pentagram that held me. “Angry people lash out. They make stupid, rash decisions. My family drugged me for a reason, and it probably has to do with you, which means I need to find a way out of here. Getting angry won’t help me do that.”
“There isn’t one.” I sighed, starting to lose interest.
“We’ll see.”
I narrowed my eyes, regarding her again. “Do you know of one?”
Her lips curled upwards in a sly smile. “You do realize this is my parents’ basement, right? I played in these tunnels as a kid and hid in them when I wanted to get away as a teenager. Few people, if any, know them as well as me.”
Her confidence was striking, and once more, I found myself gravitating toward her.
“One would think your family would know this before putting you down here, seeing that they didn’t bother to secure you,” I pointed out.
She ignored me as she climbed to her feet. She used her hand to brace some of her weight as she hobbled around the edge of the circle toward the wall opposite of her.
“If you step into the circle, it will alert them—”
“I know this may come as a surprise to you, but as nice as your voice is, I’m going to need you to be quiet so I can think.”
My lips parted. I took a breath and held it.
Only three times in my long life had a woman talked to me that way.
The first was Aeshma.
The second was Piper.
And the third was this little witch.
Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me, given she smelled of my atma. Piper had escaped with her. And then I recalled the way they’d clung to each other . . .
“Are you and Piper in a relationship?”
“What?” she said, surprise flitting across her features.
“Your hearing is quite good for a witch. I know you heard me. Are you two fucking?”
She closed her eyes and exhaled once. “No, Piper and I are not fucking, nor are we in a relationship. Piper’s my . . . friend.”
I’m not sure why, but I breathed easier at that knowledge . . . which was a strange thing for me, and something that I didn’t want to look deeper into. Not that there was much point in introspection when I was so close to dying.
“Besides, I’m fairly certain it’s only a matter of time until Ronan wears her down.”
I didn’t like to hear that, but it also didn’t hurt as much as it should have.
Perhaps it was because our bond was made and not natural. Perhaps it was because I knew if I died, she would need someone—even if it was my bastard brother.
Or perhaps it was something else.
Something I also would not put a name to.
The witch snorted, and I narrowed my eyes further.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You. Them.” She chuckled again. “You’re all very predictable. Take you, for instance. You don’t shut up until I bring up Ronan and Piper. There’s so much unnecessary drama between the three of you. Really, you should all just bond and fuck, and then everyone can move on with their lives. But no. You all have to make things difficult.” She rolled her eyes, and my brows furrowed.
“Demons don’t share,” I told her.
“Yeah, well, Piper wasn’t born a demon, and last I checked, they weren’t made either—but apparently they can be.” She started tapping bricks and humming under her breath as she did so. I watched in curiosity.
“Even if sharing was an option, she wouldn’t have done it. Piper isn’t like that,” I said on a tired sigh.
One final tap and the bricks began to shake. Dust fell in puffy clouds. The clay bricks receded back into the wall as they shuffled to the side in a wave that spread outward until a six-foot tall and four-foot-wide gaping hole was there instead.
“That’s true. Piper isn’t like that. If it makes you feel better, between you and Ronan, I don’t think you ever stood a chance. They have something, and if she can ever move past her issues, I think they’d be good together. Maybe not, but at least the sex would be good,” she said, turning and crossing her arms like she didn’t just open a door that could be her escape.
“I—you—what are you doing?”
“At a loss for words,” she murmured. “Now there’s a first. Don’t worry, though, I won’t tell anyone that the devil needs relationship advice.”
“I don’t need advice,” I said. “I want to know why you’re not leaving. You’ve spent the last five minutes telling me that Piper and I aren’t right together. I’m trapped in this circle with no way out, when you clearly aren’t. I’ve only ever been horrible to you and your kind . . . so why aren’t you leaving?”
Her honey eyes watched me for a long-suspended moment. But it wasn’t the color or the shape that made me stare back and really see the woman before me as more than a witch, or a girl, or even a tool to be used like so many before her.
It was the expression on her face.
And one I would never forget . . . if I somehow didn’t die before the end of this.
“Because I can’t. You and Piper would be awful together. She would never be able to fully forgive you, but regardless of that—you share a bond. You are her atman.”
“She has another on
e,” I pointed out, though really, I shouldn’t have. Part of me just wanted to see what she’d say to that. What she’d do.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nathalie said softly. “Tell me, Lucifer, is it true all supernatural bonds are merely weaker imitations of the atma bond?”
Her expression was sharper, keener than I’d expect for someone who’d been kicked in the head. I felt like prey under this witch’s watchful gaze, and I wasn’t sure if I disliked it or not.
“I can’t attest to if they’re truly weaker. I’ve never experienced one. But they do come from the atma bond. Magic seeks balance. Without it, we all lose to chaos.”
She nodded once, like that was the answer she expected.
Then she stepped into the circle.
“Don’t—” I tried to protest, but there was no point. She’d already triggered it.
“Precisely,” she said, crouching at my side. “Which is why I can’t leave without you. If you die . . . so will part of Piper. I won’t do that to her.”
The air hissed between my teeth as she placed her hands on the chain linked to my right wrist. The metal turned red hot and began to burn. My teeth clenched as I swallowed the pain down.
“If there was a way out of these chains, don’t you think I would have done it?” I said. “It’s impossible. It’s—”
“That’s not true. Nothing is impossible. It’s simply very difficult, and you’re not being helpful right now. You said yourself they’ll know I’m in here. Maybe they’ll come down. Maybe not. Either way, I’d rather be long gone by the time my parents figure out what happened. So are you going to help me, or am I on my own for saving your ass here?”
Her words were a cold slap across the face. I took a slow, shallow breath and swallowed down the fire threatening to boil my skin and eat away at bone.
“These chains were made specially for me. They used my blood. It might not be impossible, but you forget—I’ve tasted your blood. I know what you are and how much power you hold. You’re not strong enough for this, little witch. It would take the caster themselves to break these chains, but I can promise you she won’t.”
I knew, but I scented her on them when they first chained me.
Haunted by Shadows: Magic Wars: Demons of New Chicago Book Two Page 14