by G. Bailey
I lean against the wall surrounding the city and stare up at the tree burning in the near distance. “So… how do we get to the trials?” I ask, glancing at Caspian sitting on the edge of the wall.
“You really are new here, huh?” He twirls a dagger between his fingers while grinning at me. “The roots of the tree are made up of magical ley lines. See that portal at the hallow?” He points the tip of the blade at the archway carved into the hollow of the tree; the portal is filled with sapphire light. “You step into it and think about where you wanna go, then viola, you’re there.”
“That’s pretty neat,” I admit, pushing off the wall. “Then we should get going. How do I look?”
He gives me a slow once-over, taking in my tight black bodysuit and knee-high combat boots that “some” woman left at his after a one-night stand. I guess I should be lucky they fit. Despite the way it clings to my body, it’s extremely flexible and frames my figure perfectly.
“Like a Stormfire,” he says.
I nod. “Good. Now let’s go kick some ass.”
With a shake of his head, Caspian jumps down from the wall, and we make our way towards the tree. To my relief, no one pays us any attention as we stroll through the bustling Inner City. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve learned that this is the main gathering point in Hell. Hell itself is split up into several different realms, and the closer you get to the Fire Realm, the probability of survival is slim; not many people who visit there ever come back.
It’s where Rizer and his pack guard the gates.
An icy chill runs down my spine at the thought of him. I lift my gaze from the ash-covered ground. The shadow of the tree stretches over me, merging with the burning leaves that flutter through the air. Men, women, and shifters alike walk to and from the portal. We join the queue. When it’s our go, Caspian turns to me and holds out a hand.
“Ready, songbird?”
I steal a deep breath and nod. He takes my hand in his, and together we step into the light.
“The Realm of DHT,” Caspian says loudly. DHT: Demon Hunting Trials. I like it.
Magic wraps around us. It caresses and licks every inch of my skin. The light fades from sapphire into a deep, mossy green, and the most beautiful building stands in front of me. It’s more like a palace than anything I’ve seen before, and it towers into the tree above it. Several buildings are surrounding a courtyard we walk through, past lines of wolves who glance our way. The courtyard is filled with green plants and small lights in the dark corners, all the way up the pillars that mark the entrance to the building.
Caspian weaves a path confidently through the entrance. I follow in his wake, all the way through the foyer and into another hall, where a grim-faced male in a green robe awaits us. He stands on a podium where a magical quill scribbles over an old-looking book.
“Name,” the male asks when we stop in front of him, not even glancing up from the book.
Caspian steps forward first. “Caspian Hardling.”
The male looks at the book and then down at Caspian. A derisive smile curls the edge of his thin lips. “Ah, I wondered when you’d show your face. Third time’s a charm, eh?”
The marks on Caspian’s face glow softly and he clenches his jaw. He doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to glare silently at the male. I feel a little bad for him. It must be humiliating not to get into the trials once, never mind twice. After a moment, the unmoving quill scribbles over the parchment, and the male nods for Caspian to pass through the arch behind him.
Sharp, yellow eyes latch on me next. “Name.”
I part my lips to say Lilith but quickly catch the words from escaping. “Autumn French.”
A silence stretches between us. My heart hammers and I watch him check the book for my details. In the corner of my eye, Caspian watches, too, his hand reaching for the dagger at his hip. Autumn’s the name of a girl who went missing from Caeli when I was a little girl. It was the first name that popped into my head.
The male snaps his gaze up to me. “Go on then.” He snaps his fingers for the next person to come forward.
I release a breath and follow Caspian through the double doors. We enter a courtyard surrounded by granite archways and pilasters wrapped in ivy. The ground is covered in grass , and at the far end, a tall male slouches in a throne, drumming his fingers absently on the armrest. He stifles a yawn with a ringed hand and then waves the group of applicants away dismissively. Each one of them look devastated as they pick up their weapons and leave the courtyard.
“Word of advice?” Caspian whispers, walking with me through the courtyard. “Don’t be yourself, songbird.”
I chuckle under my breath.
As if I’d do that in front of Prince Eziel—Rizer’s son. I’ve always found it odd how in every other pack in the world, the alpha’s sons are known as just that. But in Stormfire, the alpha’s son is known as the prince and heir to the pack because his father rules like a king. They don’t need titles given to them because no one would ever question their titles. Unless they wanted to lose their heads, that is.
An armoured guard appears from under one of the archways. He orders me to stand back when Caspian approaches the throne. I obey and watch Caspian and the prince exchange a fond greeting, a handshake, and pat to the back. They must be friends. For some reason, it eases my anxiety a little. If I fuck up, hopefully Caspian can put in a good word for me. That does mean I’ll owe him again, though.
While Caspian explains why, once again, he wants to enter the trials, I take the opportunity to assess the male before him. He’s much taller than Caspian, who’s at least six feet. The high-necked tunic that frames his muscular torso is a bright gold outlined in dark green. His trousers and boots are the same shade of green but the metal band threaded in his short, dirty-blond hair is silver, like the strange necklace around his neck.
He sits back once Caspian pledges his allegiance and walks away. The moment the male glances at me, his smile disappears, and he returns to his former bored state.
“And why do you wish to enter the trials?” he asks, contemplating the emerald ring on his finger.
This guy couldn’t look more disinterested even if he tried.
As much as I’m dying to say, “I want to enter the trials so I can kill your dad”, I reply instead: “I want to avenge my parents.”
He peers up at me, his body bathed in the sunlight streaming through the courtyard. “What happened to them?”
I swallow the lump of emotion swelling in my throat. “They were… killed.”
The corner of his lip twitches. “I gathered that. Why?”
Caspian’s words echo in my mind. Don’t be yourself.
What would Autumn French say?
Lifting my chin, I look at the prince dead in the eye; crimson, just like his dad’s. “Because they refused to give up what was valuable to them,” I answer boldly. “I want to become the strongest demon bounty hunter there is, and when that day comes, I’ll kill the bastard who took them from me.”
Even my dad, although we never bonded, didn’t deserve to die because of me.
I must avenge them.
“Spoken like a true Stormfire,” the prince drawls, tilting his head at me.
He studies me for a moment, and I notice how he’s stopped drumming his fingers against the armrest.
“What skills have you got?”
“Enough to put Caspian on his ass, that’s for sure.”
Behind me, leaning against one of the pilasters, Caspian bursts out laughing.
The prince smirks. “Oh, yeah? Now that’s something I’d like to see.” He motions to Caspian. “All right, Caspian. Let’s see if she’s all talk.”
Caspian bows dramatically low. “It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”
Prince Eziel grits his teeth. “Fuck off.”
Obviously he doesn’t like being addressed with his royal title. How interesting.
Caspian laughs and walks back over, his boots muffled b
y the soft grass. He tosses me a dagger. I catch it but then shake my head and throw the blade into the soil.
“How about the old-fashioned way?” I ask with a playful note in my voice.
Caspian raises his brows and glances at the prince, who merely shrugs and motions for us to proceed. Reluctantly, Caspian unhooks his weapon belt, his holsters, and places all of his weapons on the ground.
“I never raise a hand to girls,” he mutters, getting into a combative stance. “You sure you want to do this, songbird?”
“After everything I’ve been through these past few days? Yeah. I’m fucking sure.”
In all honesty, I can think of nothing better than fighting. It’s a great way to let off some steam.
Caspian bows again, a wry smirk pulling at his lips. “Then I won’t go easy on you.”
“You’ll only embarrass yourself if you do,” I reply around a grin.
This is where all my training at the academy and my personal training should come in use.
Caspian charges for me. I dodge to the side and pivot on my heel, missing him by a hair. He nods in admiration. I tighten my fists, preparing for his next attack. This time he charges with determination. He’s definitely not going easy on me. I block his attack and lift my right elbow, using it to hit him—somewhat lightly—in the face. A little bit of blood drips from his nose.
“Right in the schnozz,” he shouts, and I burst out laughing, remembering the time we watched that Home Alone movie together with my brother all those years ago. It feels like yesterday Caspian used to come visit my home. I’d been like a love-struck puppy watching him from my bedroom window.
He kicks his left leg, and I duck as it sweeps over me. This position brings me at eye level with his most vulnerable asset. I smile a wicked grin and I aim for his groin with a clenched fist. Caspian stops me with one hand wrapped around my hand and the other on my throat.
“You play dirty, babe.” He squeezes my windpipe, just a little to show his superior strength, not enough to really hurt me. “Your brother would be so proud.”
“He taught me to seize every opportunity,” I gasp out.
The prince chuckles behind me, and damn, it’s sexy. But no time for distractions.
I punch Caspian in the gut with my free hand. He lets out a puff of air like a deflated cushion, and my attack winds him for a moment. He has no choice but to release me. He tries to catch his breath.
Gasping a lungful of air myself, I tackle him to the ground and lock his head between my thighs. He stares up at me, in what I think is amazement, and the colour rushes to his face while I cut off his air supply. His complexion reddens and he struggles to breathe underneath me.
“You—know—this is actually—quite—delightful—” Caspian chokes between gasps, grinning at me.
How can he still manage to be an ass when I’m literally squeezing the air from his body?
Rolling my eyes, I disentangle myself and stand on my feet. I offer him a hand. “Looks like I won.”
My triumph is short-lived.
The air seizes in my lungs and I’m thrown off my feet and onto the ground. Strong, powerful hands pin me down and force my face into the dirt. What in the name of the fuck?! How did I not see that coming?
I flail underneath him, but his strength far outmatches my own. The sound of him chuckling tells me the fight is over. Caspian won. Damn it!
Now it’s his turn to hold out his hand. “Told you I wouldn’t go easy on you.”
I accept his hand, and he pulls me up. “Asshole,” I mutter.
“Well done.” The prince applauds us slowly, his eyes trained on me in particular. “Not bad, but you’ve got a lot to learn. Caspian will show you to your room.”
I blink at the prince. “You mean… I’m in?”
A slow, lazy smile stretches over his lips. “You’re in.” He nods to the stone. “Pledge your soul to the stone and gift it your blood.”
Picking up one of Caspian’s daggers, I approach the rock and slide the blade over my palm while trying not to convey my excitement. I squeeze my hand and let the blood drip down onto the wet stone, still fresh with Caspian’s blood.
The prince makes a gesture with his hand. “Welcome to the Trials.”
I did it. So long as I keep my real identity hidden and the bracelet on my wrist, Rizer will never be able to find me. I’ll be the one to find him, once I’m ready. I incline my head and follow Caspian across the courtyard.
“Hey, Caspian,” the prince calls out, “keep your eye on that one. She is less wolf and more fire.”
Caspian chuckles and nods. Before we disappear entirely, I sneak a glance over my shoulder only to find the prince still looking at me with that contagious, sexy smile of his. It promises that if I’m his fire, he just might be my downpour. I’d better watch him… closely.
Chapter 7
Lilith Thornblood
The courtyards of the Demon Hunting Trials are beautiful in a way I never expected Hell to be. Instead of being dead and covered in flames, it is full of green and life. Different plants fill every corner and in rows at the side of rocky stone pathways. The buildings are made of old yellow stone with black metal balconies. There are pillars and archways everywhere I look. This place has the feel of a mixture between Greek and French. Everything is covered in red flowered ivy, curling around the statues of the Crescent Mother we pass. The statues make me feel like I’m back at the academy, where they have statues everywhere. We head around the dim corridors, through pathways, and into one of the tallest buildings that is right at the back of the compound. The building stretches into a branch that goes across the roof, letting ivy and vines trail around the building like they are embracing it.
I follow Caspian through the entrance hall, which is empty except for a single green sofa, and into a corridor full of dozens of doors. Caspian never glances at the doors in his long strides, making it clear he knows his way around. When I don’t owe him my life, I’m going to be nosy and find out what happened last year and how he failed the demon-hunting trials. He must have lived here last year. The corridors are painted deep forest green with intricate patterns of small to large trees, no doubt mimicking the tree outside that Hell itself literally revolves around. The green compliments the dark-wood floors and occasional planted flower pot we pass. Every few feet are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling that look like they’re made of pure glass shaped like diamonds. They couldn’t be genuine diamonds… I think. If the demon hunting goes wrong, I’m stealing one or two of the diamonds from those chandeliers just in case.
Each door has a gold-plated number on it, and I notice right away the numbers are all odd. Why are there no even numbers? We go around the corner, far into the sixties and seventies rooms before we come to a stop at the number seventy-seven.
Funny, seven has always been my lucky number since I was five and tricked seven academy teachers into thinking a racoon had raided their snack cupboard with my ace acting skills.
Caspian opens the door with a set of two gold keys and then slips them both in his pocket.
“Can I have my key?” I ask, staring at his back.
He glances back at me as he pushes the door open. “No.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“I don’t remember you having such a rude mouth when you were in Caeli. Don’t they hate swear words or some shit?” he questions. “I remember the academy teachers telling me off and I only got away with it because I wasn’t from there.”
“Swearing is frowned upon in Caeli,” I explain to him. “I never understood it. Fuck is as good a word as any in the dictionary. Actually, I think it’s an amazing word. It can mean so many things and insult so many people.”
He laughs and shakes his head, waving a hand at the door. “Ladies first.”
“Do I get my own room?” I ask and step over the threshold.
He walks past me and turns on the light and I see that he didn’t have to feel the wall for the switch. He knew where it was.
“You do,” he pauses, his gaze flickers down my body and I flush. “Unless you want to share?”
“In your dreams, buddy,” I reply to him, knowing he’s kidding even if parts of my body are fully willing to override my brain and hop on his train. Down, girl.
He bites on his bottom lip and tilts his head, locking his eyes on me. I end up watching the way his bottom lip pops out from between his teeth, wondering what it would feel like if he bit me like that. I shudder and turn around, shutting the door behind us. The thud of Caspian walking away reaches me and force myself to not to glance at him. Instead, I focus on taking in the room, which is definitely designed as some kind of French style or maybe the French design came from Hell. This place is thousands of years old, after all. The walls are high as we walk through the front door. The same chandeliers are in the corridor that goes into a giant living room. The walls are the same dark green but plain, and there are no windows, which is a little disconcerting. It’s still pretty bright in here, thanks to the lights.
There are three light-green, old fabric couches in the middle and they are surrounding a large coffee table that has a massive mark in the centre that kinda appears like a sword cut through it and someone glued it back together. Badly. Caspian looks really out of place as he drops all his weapons on the sofa, clearly claiming it as his own. Instead of watching Caspian take his many, many weapons off one by one, I go through one door right at the back, which leads to a tiny kitchen. It’s a tiny space with dark-wood cabinets and an old yellowed fridge. There is an old microwave shoved into the corner, which seems like it’s a good ten years old. Leaving the kitchen, I open the door next to it and find one of the first bedrooms.
“This is my room,” Caspian states, stepping in front of me and into the bedroom before I stake any claim to it. “Finders keepers, songbird.”
“Stop calling me that!” I shout back as I walk away, and in response, and in response, a door slams. Dammit, I need to come up with a good nickname for him that isn’t just asshole.
Going to the next door, I find it’s a small bathroom, and every bit of it is green, including the toilet and bath. Even the showerhead itself is as green as the three cabinets and green-rimmed mirror. I really hope it doesn’t push out green water.