by Eve Langlais
She could see it so very clearly. When Desmond cast her aside, he would do it quickly. Efficiently.
She’d make sure his death was equally quick.
Because he would have to die. By her hand. Because then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad losing him again.
Lie.
She closed her eyes and tried to force Desmond from her mind. But he plagued her, making this request for help a terrible idea.
I don’t want to see him. She really would prefer to ask anyone but him for help.
I have no one else. Inaction wasn’t an option. As the attacks against her grew more brazen, the realization became clear.
I have to do something. And whatever that was, Adara would guarantee that she couldn’t accomplish it on Earth.
The sorceress from the temple of worship had said that she needed to return to where it had all begun, yet she hadn’t specified which beginning she meant. Was it the dungeon where Mammon had so cruelly abused Adara?
The tribunal meeting place where her fate had been decided?
Perhaps Morrigan meant earlier still. How about the steps where someone had abandoned her?
So many crossroads in Adara’s life, none in which she’d gotten a choice.
The only thing I ever did for myself, the one decision I made…was to fall in love with the forbidden.
A decision that cost her everything.
The mundane knock at the door proved anticlimactic. Then again, what did Adara expect? For Desmond to appear in a cloud of smoke? To rip a hole through space and time to come see her?
It would have been a nice gesture. If she cared about such things. But she didn’t. Her time with Desmond had happened to another person. Adara would never be that woman again.
She looked away until her body sulked, and her heart stopped racing.
As Titus exchanged words with the Ifrit lord, Logan prowled nearby, wearing snug jeans and a soft, cream-colored Henley shirt. The height of comfort and completely different from Titus in his pressed slacks and button-down silk shirt.
What did it say about her that Desmond outshone them both, having arrived in full black regalia, from riding trousers that hugged his thighs to the long cloak that undulated behind him as he strode in as if he owned the place?
He never did lack for confidence.
Neither did she. Her chin and gaze remained steady as she finally chose to face him and said, “Thank you for agreeing to help us.”
“What’s this us?” Desmond replied with an arched brow. “The vampire said you required my aid crossing into Ha’el. You, I’m willing to help. Everyone else can piss off.”
“I am not going alone.” Having Logan and Titus bound to her chafed at times. Strange how her link with them felt nothing like the one she had with Desmond. Her tie to him had the ability to warm her. Make her feel secure.
Whereas the one with Logan and Titus…it was more like a leash. A tether she held.
Which made no sense.
Desmond’s nostrils flared. “You won’t be alone. I’ll be with you.”
“Not good enough. I want people I can trust.”
The line of his jaw tightened. “I won’t betray you.”
“Perhaps.” She conceded that much to him. “Which means you should have no issue with me bringing allies.”
“You wish me to bring them to Ha’el, then I shall. But do not think to blame me when their presence draws notice. Their kind is rarely seen in my world.”
“Only the most brazen would dare attack guests of yours.”
Desmond didn’t react to the implied insult. “Never said they’d be attacked. But they will be a curiosity. There is more than one lord who’d like them as pets.”
“I don’t do tricks,” Logan growled.
“You would if it meant surviving.” Desmond’s flat words went well with the cold smile.
Seeing it only served to remind Adara of how well she knew him. A past she couldn’t shake. Was it any wonder she was conflicted about who she was? Being around Desmond meant that she kept being dragged into the past. A time when she was Erela, beloved adopted daughter and an Ifrit’s lover.
“Since when do you let other lords run roughshod over you?” Adara demanded. “The Desmond I recall demanded respect from his peers and would never suffer the slightest insult.”
“And I still don’t. But that doesn’t mean I go out of my way to protect the bastard children of that forest lord who went on a wild rutting rampage centuries ago.”
An allusion to the creation of the shifters. More mixing of the blood. Fascinating how Earth had so many examples. Even more interesting that it didn’t appear to be the calamity that tribunal laws implied.
Adara angled her chin. “So, you don’t like bastards? Good to know I’ll have to look out for myself while in your company.”
“I said they would receive nothing special from me. You, however,”—Desmond’s lips pulled into a slow, teasing smile—“your wish is my command.”
She sucked in a breath, and not just because of the memory that suddenly hit her. A lesson from her teacher, Herra, who’d said, “When an Ifrit declares his love, he offers the one thing he never gives any other.” A wish.
But how far could she take that desire?
“They come with me, and you’ll be nice about it,” Adara declared.
“Or else what?” asked Desmond.
“Or I’ll assume you’re so completely emasculated by Logan and Titus that the only way you think you can earn my regard is by eliminating the competition before they make you look inadequate.”
Desmond stared at her. A hard gaze that got even stonier when Logan chuckled. “Fucked if he says yes, fucked if he says no. Nice.”
A tic appeared in Desmond’s upper cheek by his eye. “We’re wasting time. The portal on this plane only aligns for a short amount of time each day. We must make haste if we’re to use it.”
“How is it the portal wanes in and out of existence?” she asked. Her knowledge of them was limited to the one on Babylonia’s border with Ha’el. It never went away.
“Some planes are in better alignment than others. Earth is constantly shifting, which plays havoc with the doorways between the worlds. The one that spills into my castle only has a short window.”
“What happens if we miss it?”
“Then you better hope we don’t end up somewhere worse than here,” Desmond warned.
“My asking for your help means nothing.” Adara wanted to make it clear.
“If you say so, arammu.” Desmond’s lips curved into a smile. “Shall we go?”
“Lead the way.” She signaled to Logan and followed Titus, who pivoted to return to the front hall.
Exiting the house, she noticed the limo sitting out front. Leaning against the hood was Stefan.
She bared her teeth when he glanced in their direction. He was to blame for much of what had happened since she’d left the human asylum.
Stefan had spied on her. He’d told Desmond all about her. Stefan was the reason she felt such turmoil. If he’d kept to serving only Titus, things would be very different right now.
Stefan tipped his cap and then rounded the car to get into the driver’s seat. Logan slipped in next, taking a position where he could watch the back of Stefan’s head.
At a gesture from Desmond, Titus followed, sitting opposite Logan, leaving plenty of space. Yet not enough at all.
Desmond swept a hand. “After you.”
A part of her screamed to stay here. That leaving would change everything.
That was the coward Adara, the one who still had nightmares about the pain.
Erela never backed down from a challenge. To prevail, she’d have to put Adara aside. Time to remember, and become, who she was meant to be.
She sat beside Logan, which put her facing Desmond. The space between them was charged with electricity. The thread joining them hummed with awareness. She ignored it and focused on her mark with Titus. A cold, soothing presence that evap
orated the moment she glanced at Desmond.
She spent the ride looking out the window, listening as Titus asked questions about the portal.
“So, this portal you’re taking us to, does it only admit one person at a time, or will we enter as a group?”
“It’s large enough to handle a squad.”
“Which is how many exactly?” Logan queried. “And shouldn’t that be legion?”
Titus sighed and shook his head, causing Logan to retort, “What? It’s what they call the armies of Hell in the movies.”
“We do have legions, which are comprised of two squads and a field commander.”
“Which is how many?” Logan prodded.
“Squads contain five soldiers. A legion has eleven.”
Erela remembered her lessons. “That only applies to soldiers. When it comes to magic users, a circle is seven, and a coven numbers thirteen.”
“Those are all prime numbers,” Titus remarked. “So what about three? Or seventeen? What do they represent?”
“Three is for a judgment.”
Titus leaned forward. “Who judges?”
“Anyone higher in rank than the person being judged.”
“What if it’s a lord?” Logan asked. “Who judges them?”
Desmond shrugged. “No idea. It’s never been an issue.”
“Which is surprising,” Erela said, brow creased as the memories pulled free. “You would think there would be issues amongst the nineteen Dark Lords that require resolution.”
“Another prime number.”
“As are the seventeen wives,” Erela noted.
Desmond blinked at her. “How do you know that?”
“You mean because it’s not common knowledge?” She arched a brow. “I did research on your people after we met.” Which she recalled as being difficult. The Ifrits were private beings who kept most facts close. But where there was will and coin, there was a way.
The admission brought a smile. “You were looking into our marriage rituals.”
“Was not,” she huffed.
“If you say so.” Desmond snickered.
She could feel the spurt of jealousy from Logan through their bond and had a twinge of guilt.
Logan interrupted their repartee. “Will we be tied together so we’re not separated?” A valid concern when entering any rift between worlds. Some were more dangerous than others.
Desmond shook his head. “Tethering of any sort between portals isn’t recommended.”
“Why?” Logan asked, a question also showing in Titus’s gaze.
Erela replied, “Because the Netherworld between the planes can be dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
“Not everyone makes it to the other side.”
Titus frowned. “Is it possible to get lost?”
“Yes.” Erela explained. “The mists within the portals could thicken and turn a person around.”
“That isn’t the only reason people disappear. There are things in the mist. Some say it’s ghosts. Others call them monsters. A few even think there are hidden chasms.” Desmond sounded matter-of-fact about it.
“Not reassuring,” Logan grumbled.
“It wasn’t meant to be. The good news is that casualties are usually light,” Desmond remarked. “Ever since the incident with Azazael’s legion, everyone steps through untethered.”
“Which helps how?” Logan asked.
Desmond’s smile was wicked. “If one gets taken, the others have time to run.”
A tidbit of history rose to the surface of Erela’s memories. Eons ago, Azazael—a mighty Dark Lord—had problems with his troops disappearing every time he went through a rift. Thinking they were deserters, Azazael decided to put an end to it.
Marching to his next battle, he had all his demon soldiers tethered, the chain solid and linking them together, with the ends looped in Azazael’s hands.
That day, seven legions entered the rift on their way to war.
Only one soldier emerged.
Not Azazael. Whatever took him and his legion never spat a piece back out. Only the soldier, dangling a section of chain sheared clean through, made it out alive.
And never spoke again.
“Has no one ever hunted the monster in this Netherworld?” Titus asked.
“Why would we?” Desmond sounded genuinely curious. “It is within its rights to take care of trespassers.”
“And sometimes killing things just for the sake of it causes more harm than good.” The words spilled from Erela, and she could hear the faint echo of someone’s voice in her mind. Who’d taught her that lesson?
The vehicle rattled and bumped as they left the smoothness of paved roads for the wilder, untamed parts of the province.
When the car stopped, Desmond was the first one out, offering her a hand. Which she ignored.
She stepped out and regarded the rather unprepossessing location. A clearing with a ramshackle structure, the metal roof rusted and dented, about to cave in. The wooden siding appeared weathered enough that a strong wind might blow it to splinters.
“The doorway we’re looking for is here?” Titus didn’t hide the skepticism.
“It is nearby.” Desmond strode to the house.
“Where are the guards? The fences?” Titus looked around. “Don’t tell me you have a rift to Hell so easily accessible?”
“Any humans foolish enough to stray inside deserve their fate.”
“You mean you kill them?” Titus didn’t sound offended, but Desmond still took issue.
“What else would you have us do? We can’t have the humans running back here to spill the truth of our existence.”
“You could seal the doors,” Erela remarked.
“The magic required to close a rift demands the sacrifice of the person attempting it. Why give our lives when we can simply take the lives of those who trespass against us?”
“Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil,” Titus muttered. “I’m beginning to see where a lot of the Bible-thumping tidbits came from.”
“This place doesn’t smell right.” Logan prowled, the growl of his voice matching the rising beast on his features.
“Doesn’t feel right either,” Titus muttered.
Standing outside the hut door, Desmond pointed to the car. “If you are afraid, then feel free to depart. Stefan will take you home.”
“We’re not leaving Adara with you,” Logan stated.
“Then stop complaining.” Desmond wrenched at the door, and a hot breeze flowed out, a hint of brimstone coming with it.
Logan growled, and Titus stiffened.
Given she could feel their unease through her mark with them, Erela felt compelled to say, “You don’t have to come.”
Of course, having said that, both hastened to reassure her.
“I’m coming. Fear not, dearest.”
“Don’t worry, mouse. I ain’t letting you down.”
And she knew they wouldn’t. What she did wonder was if it was fair to them to expect their help. Her feelings for them had shifted. No longer did she see them as protectors.
That’s Desmond’s fault, too. Everything had been fine until the Ifrit appeared.
Because I didn’t remember. Didn’t recall the love she had for him. The desire that trumped everything else.
It shouldn’t have made a difference.
Yet, it did. Now, her thoughts were consumed by him. Her body forgot the bad and craved the good. How was she supposed to move on when all she wanted to do was go back?
“You coming?” Titus asked, holding the door ajar.
For a moment, she hesitated, struck again by the certainty that once she stepped inside, she could never come back.
Erela ignored the warning and stepped over the threshold.
Chapter Twelve
The interior proved dark. Desmond held up his hand, and a ball of light formed and hovered in his palm. The shadows scattered, as did the rodents, who scurried off with their pink tails
dragging behind them. The inside of the hut didn’t appear any better than the exterior. The pungent aroma of urine filled the nose, as did the stench of rotting carcasses.
There was a broken chair in one corner, tilting drunkenly on three legs. A pile of branches and leaves in another.
“Where is the portal?” Titus queried.
“Below us.” Desmond knelt and gripped a hole in a floorboard, the tug activating a hinge that raised a whole jagged section. A waft of warm air, hinting once more of brimstone, wafted up from below. Stairs, hewn of stone, descended into pitch blackness.
“Of course, they keep it in the cellar,” Titus grumbled.
“Complaining again, leech?” Desmond taunted.
“I smell dead things,” Logan remarked.
“Is that any way to speak of your companion?” The jest came from the Dark Lord, and Erela had to bite her lip lest she grin.
Titus stiffened. “I am not dead.”
“Yet the virus that animates you is the only thing keeping you alive.”
“What do you know of my kind?” Titus spat.
“We are aligned with those who created your kind,” Desmond riposted. “An error they should have rectified. Especially given your lack of respect for your betters. Now, if you’re both done complaining, time passes, and our window to cross shortens.” Desmond flung his ball of light, and it skipped down the steps, rolling much as a ball would, leaving behind an illuminated trail. A trajectory that went down, down, down, and turned a corner. They couldn’t see the bottom.
“How far?” Titus asked.
“Does it matter? I heard your kind enjoys spending time underground.” Desmond seemed intent on needling Titus. Erela could feel the vampire’s frustration through their mark.
“Not by choice,” Titus muttered as he swept past Desmond and hit the first step. Only to sway and almost tumble as a shaggy shape bounded past.
Titus glared at the receding furry tail. “I am not carrying your underwear for you!”
Neither would Desmond, which meant Erela got the task of collecting the shed clothing—which lacked underwear—and carrying it tucked under an arm. Following Titus, she entered the narrow stairwell, all too aware of Desmond at her rear.
It wasn’t fear that prickled her nape, but awareness. The last time Desmond had followed her down some stairs, he’d grabbed her partway down, pressed her up against a wall, and kissed her until they heard steps descending. They’d sprung apart, and she remembered her heart pounding, thinking they were lucky they’d not been caught.