Dire Blood (The Descent Series, Book 5)

by Reine, SM

  The bone needle stilled. The point pressed hard against her skin.

  When he finally replied, the anger had vanished from his voice. “Yes. I thought about it a lot. I’ve had plenty of time to dwell on my regrets, Elise. Trust me.”

  It was easy to forget what he must have gone through when all Elise had known was a moment of darkness, and then rebirth. She almost felt bad for snapping at him. Almost. But he had started it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am.”

  James cleared his throat, finished the last mark, and set the needle down.

  “There. Done.” He pressed a fingertip into the marks to activate them. Another flare of pain, another rush of magic. “You’re a skeleton key to the Palace of Dis. Congratulations.”

  Elise went to the mirror in the corner, slipping the robe down her shoulders and twisting so that she could see her back. There was a strange beauty to the marks, even though he hadn’t managed to completely wipe away the rivulets of blood; it left stains on her shoulders and hip like splatters of ink. The curves emphasized her pale figure and destroyed the purity of Yatam’s form.

  Good.

  She could see James watching her in the reflection. As soon as she turned around, he hurried to clean up.

  “It’s okay to look,” Elise said. “I’m not going to shatter under the weight of a glance.”

  He absorbed himself in the task of putting the now empty bowls and needle on Abraxas’s desk. “It’s not the looking I’m worried about,” James muttered, wiping the blood off the tip of the needle onto his robe.

  She lifted a questioning eyebrow, but he didn’t elaborate.

  He walked out into the office again.

  Elise picked up her clothing, discarded the underwear, and shimmied into her leggings. She had to drop the robes to pull on the bustier. She latched the buckles, tucked the square of paper magic into her shirt, and grabbed her sheath before following him into the next room. “Do we have a problem, James?”

  “A problem?” He gave a short laugh. “No, there’s no problem. But now that you’re…” He gestured at her body, then paced across the room, running a hand through his hair. There was that increase in his stress hormones again. “Jesus.”

  It was fascinating to watch the internal battle play out in James’s mind, even as his expression remained fairly opaque. He was arguing with himself. Trying to make a decision.

  She didn’t realize that she had stepped in close to stare at the play of light and color over his aura until he held up a hand to stop her from getting closer. “What does all of that mean?” she asked, stopping beside the desk. She pointed at his skull. “All of that…activity.”

  She saw it the instant that he came to a decision. It was like a hurricane suddenly dissipating, leaving the tumultuous waters of his mind calm and focused.

  “It means that I’m only a man, and my self-control isn’t infinite,” James said, and he sounded defeated. He tossed the bone needle onto the desk.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I said that I’ve had plenty of time to think about my regrets, Elise,” he said, mouth drawn into a frown. It carved deep lines on either side of his lips and between his eyebrows. “And my God, are they numerous. I’ve thought—what would you do, if you knew you were about to lose someone you care about?” He sighed and cupped her jaw in his hand. “What would I do differently if I knew I was about to lose you?”

  Elise wasn’t sure if that was a rhetorical question or not, but her silence only seemed to frustrate him.

  “I’m trying to tell you something here,” he said.

  “You’re going to have to be clearer than that, James.”

  The muscles in his neck worked as his jaw clenched. “Fine.”

  And then he grabbed her arms, pulled her against him, and kissed her hard.

  There was a moment of pure shock where she only managed to stiffen and think a few swear words. Elise was certain that if she could have seen the activity in her own mind, it would have been red and flashing, like an alarm bell.

  She shoved him and took a big step backward.

  Her fingers flew to her mouth, feeling the blood rush to her lips and cheeks. Her demon flesh was happy to kiss James—more than happy. But the human parts of her that remained were somewhere between confused and hurt. “What the hell was that supposed to be?”

  He didn’t look hurt by her rejection, but guilt colored the flashes in his brain—and determination. James rubbed a hand down his face. “I have so many regrets, and the number only keeps growing.” He dropped his hand to his side and moved closer to her again. “What do a few more mistakes mean after that?”

  “Is that what that was? A mistake?”

  “Not exactly.” His brow knitted, and his thumb traced the edge of her bottom lip. “I never should have let you leave.”

  It was hard to catch her breath enough to speak. “You are confusing the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry,” he said, and she thought that he meant it.

  She couldn’t read his thoughts or understand his emotions. In fact, the more she saw from James, the less she understood him. It was like he was an open book written in a language that she didn’t understand. Elise felt helplessly illiterate.

  Which, she decided after a moment, didn’t matter all that much.

  Ten years. Elise had been waiting for James to notice her for ten goddamn years. She’d have to be stupid to reject him when he finally seemed to have woken up.

  “I think incarceration in Hell has probably driven you insane,” she said. Her hands found their way to the back of his neck, linking together so that she could pull herself against his chest.

  His hands curved over her waist. “Unfortunately, I feel very sane right now.” He gave a shuddering breath. “I wish I didn’t.”

  She stretched onto her toes, and, very hesitantly, brushed her lips over his. It was hard to trust that he wasn’t going to pull away again. But he didn’t.

  The shift in her weight made him unbalance. He stepped back, bumped into Abraxas’s claw-footed chair, and sat down hard. Elise followed him, climbing into his lap. It was a big chair. There was enough room for her knees on either side of his legs.

  It was physically easier to kiss him when they weren’t standing and didn’t have twelve inches’ height difference between them. But it wasn’t any less strange. Elise had to stop to breathe. She hadn’t even realized that breathing was still a necessity until she suddenly couldn’t do it anymore.

  James only gave her a moment before pulling her down to crush his lips against hers again, like he was afraid that if he stopped for too long, she would think better of what they were doing—or maybe that he would be the one to lose his nerve.

  Maybe one of them would have come to their senses if they had a few more minutes alone in Abraxas’s office, but they didn’t get a chance to find out.

  The door creaked open.

  “Uh,” someone said—someone that sounded a lot like a ten-year-old boy.

  Elise straightened to see Nathaniel standing in the doorway, his features slack with shock.

  The visual of what was happening inside of him was a thousand times worse. He had been having daydreams of his parents falling in love again, getting married, and completing their family, only to find his father—with whom he had still not had a single real conversation—kissing another woman.

  It was like she could see his heart breaking.

  She stood on bare feet and took two steps toward the door. “Nathaniel…”

  Anger flashed through his eyes. “Don’t,” he said, and then he fled.

  XV

  Elise pushed past the nightmare guards and entered the workroom just as Nathaniel activated his circle of power. Lightning arced between the symbols around the circumference and joined at the center, splitting the air with a sliver of impossibly bright light.

  She lifted a hand to shield her eyes and stepped back reflexively. It wasn’t just a reaction to the brightness—th
e sense of magic in the room was overpowering, as if the air had been replaced by liquid electricity.

  Hannah hadn’t noticed Elise’s entrance. She was too busy smoothing down the collar of Nathaniel’s shirt and flipping the hem so that it laid flat. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to them?”

  “No.” His face was very, very red. “Let’s go.”

  Elise opened her mouth to speak, but a voice rose behind her first.

  “Wait.”

  James entered the room. He had dropped the robes back in Abraxas’s office and wore only the borrowed shirt and slacks, which made him look no less intimidating when he approached his son. Nathaniel seemed tall when considered on his own, but compared to James, he was still very small.

  “That’s quite a circle,” James said.

  The boy didn’t react to being praised. Hannah stepped between them, folding her arms. “Did you take care of everything you need?” she asked, her voice several degrees cooler than when she was speaking to Nathaniel.

  James glanced at Elise. “Yes. Thank you. But I thought…maybe Nathaniel and I should…”

  “You can talk when you follow us back,” Hannah said curtly. “We need to leave while we still can.”

  Pain flashed across James’s eyes. “I suppose you do.”

  Nathaniel walked toward his father and then passed him to stand in front of Elise. He radiated with the residue of magic. It sparked at his fingertips and glittered over his skin.

  He didn’t speak, and neither did she. They shared a long stare.

  After a moment, Elise reached back, drew the falchion that hadn’t been damaged by Yatai, and offered it to Nathaniel hilt-first.

  His eyebrows lifted into his bangs.

  “Just in case,” she said. “Don’t get attached and don’t cut your foot off. I’ll be back for it soon.”

  He took it and tested the weight in his hand. Falchions were small, as far as swords went; the curved blade was just over two feet long. Perfect size for a child. “Thanks.” Nathaniel stepped toward the portal, but hesitated. White light haloed his messy hair and darkened his face, making his expression hard to read. “It’s okay. I mean, I get it. I’m not mad at you.” He didn’t look at James when he spoke, which made it clear exactly who Nathaniel blamed for James and Hannah’s estrangement.

  The door slammed open, and one of the nightmare guards ran in, skidding to a stop on the sleek black tile. His face was unusually pale, even for a demon. “We’ve been found,” he said. “Palace security is coming down the stairs. You need to go now.”

  “Come with us,” Nathaniel told Elise.

  “We can’t,” she said.

  Shouts from above, the slamming of doors. The walls shook. Dust showered from the roof and vanished in the brilliant white portal.

  “Hurry,” James urged, pushing Hannah toward the portal. “There’s no time.”

  “But—”

  “Go!”

  Abraxas strode into the room, carrying the cane under his arm as if he had never needed to rely on such a thing. One of the other nightmares followed and slammed the door behind them. Its face was splattered with ichor.

  “They must have followed you, daughter of Yatam,” Abraxas said with an ugly scowl. “Our sanctuary has been violated.”

  Fists pounded on the other side of the door, making it shake on its hinges. Hannah wrapped her arms around Nathaniel.

  “We’ll see you soon,” Elise said.

  Hannah stepped over the line of the circle and pulled her son through the portal. Their two figures became one shadow in the center of the storm. The energy intensified, glowing so brightly that Elise could see nothing else for a single, burning moment.

  With a clap of thunder, the circle of power ignited. Then the light vanished, and they were gone—and so was the circle.

  The door exploded open an instant later.

  Metal flashed, a scream broke the air, and the nightmares that had been guarding Nathaniel were gone.

  Bodies flooded into the room.

  “Get on your knees!” a woman shouted. It was Veronika—the nightmare from the Palace. There were a dozen other demons with her, all wearing the same leather uniform. A basandere, two aatxegorri, more nightmares, even an incubus.

  Abraxas spat at her. “Fuck you.”

  He disappeared.

  Elise jerked her other sword out of its sheath, backing up against James as the Palace guards filled the edges of the room.

  “James Faulkner,” Veronika said, pushing through the line of guards, “you’re under arrest for violation of the Treaty of Dis. Again.”

  “You can’t contain us,” Elise said, and she could feel her skin rippling, like her body was nothing more than a heat mirage on the pavement. All it would take was a thought, and she would disappear into shadow, untouchable and immense.

  James focused on something over Elise’s shoulder.

  “Watch out!” he yelled.

  Elise didn’t react quickly enough. The basandere whipped the chain off of its belt, flung it over her head, and jerked it tight against her throat. Magic and light sparked, showering down her flesh.

  Her skin suddenly felt too tight against her bones, as if it had contracted. Her glimpse of freedom was gone.

  She tried to grab the chains, but they burned like reaching into the center of the sun. Raised burns striped across her fingers.

  “Got her,” the basandere said triumphantly.

  A red-robed figure entered the room.

  His hood covered his face, and there was no way to tell the shape of his body under layers of voluminous cloth, but there was blood on his knuckles. He radiated with power. It left a sour taste in the back of Elise’s throat, and she knew that it had to be Metaraon, dressed as the judge.

  “I have him, sir,” Veronika said, sweeping a hand toward James. “What should we do with everyone else we find?”

  “Arrest as many rebels as you can,” Metaraon said. “Kill the ones that resist.”

  “And this one?” the basandere asked, jerking the chain tighter against Elise’s throat. She gurgled.

  “Bring her to the Palace, too. I have special plans for her.”

  He swept out of the room, robes trailing behind him.

  James had known that they were going to have to return to the Palace of Dis, but he hadn’t planned on being taken to the gates as a prisoner again. It was even more intimidating to be forced to kneel in front of them when he knew what was waiting on the other side.

  The basandere never eased up on Elise, even as it forced her beside James. The glowing chain chafed at her throat and left scorch marks on her flesh.

  The black doors swung wide.

  Metaraon swept into the courtyard first, and the rest of the security team followed. James was jerked to his feet again and pushed forward.

  The courtyard still bore all the markings of James’s escape. The wall had been reconstructed, but the new stone was a different color, and the hole he had burrowed through the earth still gaped like an open wound. The flora of the flesh orchards were leaning toward it, as though hungry for its warmth.

  The Palace’s inhabitants had collected to watch them arrive, and they stood around the path as Metaraon led the prisoners toward the grand tower. James scanned the crowd for Isaac Kavanagh, but didn’t see him or his wife.

  “Move aside!” Veronika barked, and the path to the door was cleared.

  They entered the tower. Once the doors shut, Metaraon addressed the guards. “Take her to the portal,” he said, indicating Elise with a gesture. Then he pointed at the demons surrounding James. “Veronika, stay with me. We’re going to court immediately.”

  The basandere dragged Elise down the hall, still choking her with the chain. It reminded him eerily of being separated from Hannah when he first arrived in Hell, but Elise wasn’t helpless, she didn’t cry out, and she didn’t look afraid. The promise of violence swirled in her black eyes.

  She couldn’t speak with the chain jerked tight around he
r throat, but she held up her forefinger, as if to tell James, just a minute.

  And then she was taken around the corner by a dozen guards, and he was alone.

  James was taken in the other direction by Veronika, following the swaying hem of Metaraon’s stolen robes into the cage of a lift.

  “I know your secret,” James said to Metaraon’s back. “I know who you are.”

  The guard’s fingers tightened on his bicep. The point of her knife pressed against his spine. “Be quiet.”

  But the hood of the judge’s robes turned to face him. There was nothing but darkness inside, but James struggled to pick out something, anything—a hint of that hooked nose, those cold eyes, the frowning lips. “You know who I am, goddammit,” James growled. “Acknowledge me.”

  “Very well. I acknowledge you, James Faulkner.” He almost sounded amused as he added, “It’s been many years.” The voice rumbling from the depths of the hood was painfully deep, and it resonated over James’s skin as the lift dropped. It was hard to make out the words over the loud pumping of the hydraulic pistons.

  Chills rolled down James’s spine. It wasn’t that he hadn’t believed Abraxas’s claim that Metaraon was the judge, but he hadn’t wanted to. And having confirmation of the truth—that there was an angel in Hell—made him sick.

  What other parts of the Treaty had been violated?

  He swallowed hard. “You know that I’m not a half-demon. You know who I am, and what I do.”

  No response. The hood turned away from him again, and Metaraon folded his hands behind his back.

  Their lift arrived, one of the other security guards opened the cage, and James was pushed through the dark hall.

  James had been blindfolded on his last trip through the Palace, so he didn’t recognize the murals painted on the black walls, though he knew from his studies that they were meant to depict epic battles throughout history between demons and angels—with the demons winning, of course, which wasn’t historically accurate. He did recognize the quality of the air, the sound of his footsteps on the floor, the way his ears popped at the change in pressure.