by Eve Langlais
Desmond kept aft as a hum filled the air. Magic slid past her, shivering against her flesh, drawn to the Ifrit who acted as a magnet for it.
“Here it comes,” Titus warned.
From the watery depths rose a monster. Serpentine in shape with ridged crests atop its head, a single black orb that didn’t blink, and a wide-open mouth full of jagged teeth. But it was the tendrils that shot out from the open mouth that caused concern.
“Don’t let them grab you. The saliva contains a paralytic,” Desmond advised. He dodged without moving his feet, his upper body leaning left, right, and then straight back. His hands held energy, the fingers shaping it to his will, meaning he couldn’t draw his sword.
But she could.
Erela went to his aid, her blade coming into her hand with a single thought. She swung, slicing at the darting tendrils. Tongues, she realized. Dozens—nay, hundreds!—of them, springing forth, looking for prey.
All they found was the sharp edge of her sword. She and Titus hacked at them. The filaments of flesh hit the deck where they wiggled for a short time before going still.
The attack stopped suddenly, the leviathan of the river sinking below the surface.
And without Desmond having to use a single spell.
“We’ve beaten it,” she chortled.
“More like made it angry. Brace yourselves!” Desmond yelled as the water around them churned, and the barge bucked.
The water exploded in a shower of droplets that might have hurt if Desmond hadn’t flung up both hands, shielding them with magic.
The monster lunged at them, the clacking teeth hitting the invisible shield.
“Erela, distract it.”
Not Titus. Desmond had asked for her aid. Her skill.
She darted forward and jabbed with her sword, nicking the chin of the beast. The monster bellowed, a warbly, wet sound.
It might strike terror in others, but she grinned, the fierce smile of a warrior who had drawn blood. She kept dancing, teasing the monster with her blade, all the while aware that Desmond chanted.
When he said, “Duck,” she did so without hesitation. She caught a flash of bright light from the corner of her eye.
Brief because Desmond threw himself over her just before the explosion.
Chunks of sea monster rained down. Gory and gross. Yet Erela remained clean. Desmond had shielded them.
Not so much Titus.
He glared. Which might have been more impressive without the goo dripping from his forehead onto his cheek.
As for Logan, the wolf sat up and yawned. Took a look around and then put his paws on Titus’s chest and licked him.
Erela was still laughing when they hit the borders to Desmond’s land.
Chapter Thirteen
From the moment he stepped foot in Hell, Titus felt out of his element. It was more than just the difference between here and Earth. There was something about the place that made him feel small. Insignificant.
He didn’t like it one bit.
A few times since they’d crossed, he’d been tempted to turn around. Why had he come here?
Because he honestly didn’t know why he kept risking his life.
Adara didn’t need him.
On the contrary, she was better equipped to handle this place than he was. Yet, he tagged along, a third wheel forced to watch as the bond between her and Desmond refused to die.
Did she truly think she hated the Dark Lord? Because it was evident to everyone but her that she cared.
And so did Desmond.
That was what made it hardest to watch. Desmond showed a softness toward her that evaporated for everyone else. The male was an arrogant ass, overly confident, violent, and then to compound matters, he was intelligent and capable.
A man even a jaded soul such as Titus could admire. How long since that had happened? And then to see how Desmond truly cared for Adara, and her alone…Titus wasn’t sure he could compete. Given he could still feel the soft lips of another, wondered if he even wanted to.
Which bothered him. Were his feelings truly so flighty, or had Kyla spoken truth when she said that magic might be to blame?
“How far does the river go?” Titus asked, curiosity making it impossible for him to stay quiet.
“Everywhere.” Desmond spread his hands. “The Styx divides the territories, making of them veritable islands.”
“How many islands?”
“Planning an invasion?”
“That would imply your land has something of worth for me. It doesn’t,” was Titus’s flat reply. “But I am curious. Religion has depicted Hell to be all kinds of things.” The movies also spun their own version.
“Ha’el is split into nineteen territories with a lord ruling each one, and a king to oversee them all.”
“If you say his name is Lucifer, I might just drown myself,” Titus muttered.
Desmond smiled, his teeth bright-white in the gloom. “We’ve had a king by that name, and many others. But Lucifer is probably the most famous because he was the one who tried to invade your land. And failed.”
“I take it the souls of the dead don’t come to you?” Titus wondered aloud.
“The dead are dead. The spark that animated them, the magic some call it, released that it might find another host.”
“Reincarnation?” Titus couldn’t help a high note of surprise.
Desmond snorted. “Hardly. Memories don’t survive the transition. Which is a good thing, or minds would be needlessly cluttered with millennia of history.”
As the barge glided into a dock, the solid stone pier rising from a damp mist, Titus asked the Ifrit, “How old are you?”
“We do not age like your kind if that is what you ask. Our childhood lasts much longer.”
“As does the gestation,” Adara commented, finally joining the conversation. “Did you know that Ifrit babies take years to grow in the womb?” She shook her head. “I would never want to be pregnant that long.”
“The females barely notice,” Desmond remarked. “For an Ifrit child is tiny. At birth, they fit here.” He held out his hand.
Titus frowned. “You seem normal-sized now.”
“I am not as big as some, actually.” Desmond smiled. “One might even claim I am under average.”
“Good to know,” Adara quipped. “I’ll be sure to select more carefully in the future.”
The flippant remark dropped more than one jaw. Even Logan joined in with a chuffing sound as he trotted at her heels.
Demons were on hand to pull the barge close and tie it. The gangplank wasn’t really needed, and Titus leaped from the barge to the pier. The rest of the party joined him. He spent a moment checking things out. Noticing for all Desmond might put on airs, his lands appeared caught in medieval times, the buildings all comprised of stone and wooden roofs. No cars or mechanical engines, rather wagons pulled by beasts, none that he recognized from Earth.
The inhabitants were demons for the most part, ugly and varied, and quite distinct from the more human-looking among them. Given Desmond claimed humans didn’t last long on this side, they could only be more Ifrit. More than one cast a curious eye upon them, but Desmond paid them no mind.
“This way to the castle.” The Dark Lord led the way.
Striding the length of the dock, despite night still prevailing, Titus could see a tall cliff, lanterns lighting a road winding up its side. A long freaking walk and dawn about to crest. He glanced at the lightening sky with some worry.
“Such fear about the day. It’s rather delicious, I must say.” Desmond lifted his face and breathed deeply.
“Don’t tease him,” Adara cautioned. “I’ll be angry if he burns.”
“He won’t burn.” Desmond’s flat reply was joined by a more robust, “Let’s get going, shall we? The journey was long, and I for one could use a meal.”
It appeared they wouldn’t have to walk the entire way to the castle atop the cliff. Desmond had them stand on a metal grill, rusted a
nd yet solid enough with a grate floor and iron railings all around. As to how it moved?
A giant shape swooped from the sky, its feathers black with hints of red and orange, cawing loudly. Titus ducked. Logan growled. As for Adara…
She looked as if she’d seen a miracle. “Is that a roc? I thought they were extinct.”
“Maybe in Babylonia, but luckily we bought a few from your people and let them breed before you hunted them to extinction.”
Feeling rather foolish, Titus stood and tried not to flinch as the massive bird, one of two, grabbed hold of the metal bar extending from the railing and arching overhead. Like a handle. Fuck me. They were being carried, their basket leaving the earth at the powerful strokes of wings. The rocs lifted them from the ground and headed for the castle.
“How do you make them obey?” Adara asked, leaning against the rail, her hands gripping lightly, her hair streaming behind her. “Collar? Spell?”
“Dinner.”
She blinked at Desmond. “What?”
“We feed them dinner.”
“They obey you for food?” Adara said in surprise.
“He obviously treats them well, or they wouldn’t return.” Titus knew enough about that from his life. The best blood donors were the willing ones.
“We have a crew dedicated to caring for them. Grooming, keeping the rocs’ nests clean.” Desmond shrugged.
“I always thought…” Adara started, only to frown.
Desmond finished, “That there must be some truth to the rumors that the Ifrits are violent?” His lips twisted. “We are. You didn’t ask what we do to the rocs who try to harm us.”
Judging by the chewed lower lip, she wanted to ask and didn’t.
So, Titus did it for her. “Do you kill them?”
“Yes, and roast the body in the courtyard beneath the roosts. Then we eat it. Those who serve must sometimes be reminded who is master.”
The cruel admission should have made Adara gasp and turn away. Indeed, her lips did part, but Titus saw admiration in her gaze. If he were to be honest, he might be a tad enamored himself.
Desmond was the perfect mix of cruel efficiency.
A cabal leader who was beginning to think of making a power play back home could learn a lot.
And I wonder if he could be persuaded to part with a mating pair of his birds… Titus wondered what the Ifrit would take in exchange.
The basket hit an overhanging stone lip and bounced once before screeching along the rock to a noisy rest. The rocs cawed as they released their grip and flapped to lift away.
Adara stared at them, her awe plain to see.
Desmond murmured, “I’d planned to give you a hatchling when we wed.”
“To do what with?”
“Fly. If bonded at a young age, they’ll take a harness and let you ride.” Desmond strode away before Adara could reply.
“Where are you going?” she called.
“Given my absence, I’ve affairs to tend to. My servants will see to your needs.”
Then he was gone, leaving them standing outside a castle in Hell, with no clue of what would happen next.
Poor Adara remained quite flabbergasted. “Did he really just leave us?”
“Good riddance. The man is a pompous prick.”
The look she shot him indicated she thought Titus might share the same trait. Her lips thinned. “I think we all need a break.”
And by that, she meant alone. She strode in the direction Desmond had, quickly met by a demon, head bobbing, offering a toothy grin. Titus might have worried more if the beast—who might possibly be female given its skirts—clapped its paws—er hands?—together in delight and practically bounced off, leading Adara.
Titus and Logan were left to quickly march after, doing their best to catch up without appearing unseemly. They were waylaid on their way into the castle. An Ifrit who looked down his long nose at them and said, “The master said to give you rooms.” The curl of the lip let them know he didn’t particularly believe they should get that privilege.
“Rooms sound great, but first, we need to check on Adara.”
“The female,”—again with that hint of disdain—“is being taken care of. She left instructions she wasn’t to be bothered.”
“According to you,” Titus countered. “How do we know you’ve not stuffed her in a dungeon?”
A deep sight met his accusation. “Are all your kind so contrary? If you must.”
They were led along a series of halls, which, despite the hellish outdoors, were light and airy. The stone inside not as dark, the gray of it light and scrubbed free of grime. There were no windows. However, glowing balls strung on the ceilings, at least ten feet overhead, illuminated the area with a soft glow that left nothing in shadow.
Not that there was much to see. Interlocked stone, the occasional door—metal and of tarnished engraved silver.
One of the darker doors had someone scrubbing at it with a brush and a green paste. Their guide caught Titus looking.
“The very air in Ha’el works against us. Constant maintenance is required.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to use a different material for the doors?” Titus remarked.
“Easier, yes, but we are not animals.” The sniff let them know what the Ifrit thought of the barbaric suggestion.
Logan rolled his eyes at their guide’s back, then made a rude gesture, which coming from a wolf almost quirked Titus’s lips. In a place utterly strange, and frightening if he were to be honest, it was nice to have at least one ally.
Because he wasn’t too sure what was going on with Adara. He could see the changes in her happening. Her personality changing. She changed.
Or did she merely return to who she was before?
The Adara he knew might have only been temporary. As memories returned, so did the attitude shaped by experience. People truly were a product of their past.
And her past was turning out to be convoluted. Perhaps even something more than Titus should be involved in.
Why am I here? He didn’t belong here. Not to mention, who the hell volunteered to go to Hell?
A lovesick fool.
An idiot who really had to wake up.
Their guide stopped by a door and knocked. A demon face peered out, one eye squinting. “Go away. I told you the mistress said no interruptions.”
“Her companions insisted. Apparently, they think we would disobey and place her in a cell.”
Black orbs perused, up and down. The demoness—because she was most definitely female—snorted. “She’s fine.”
Titus put a hand on the door and gave it a slight shove. “We just want to see for ourselves.
Before the demoness could reply, the door pulled open, and Adara glared. “What part of I need some time for myself did you not grasp?” A sharp rebuke followed by an instant softening. “Sorry. I’m tired, and I just want to eat something and go to sleep.”
Alone.
Unsaid but in the air. Not that they’d ever had the privilege even before now. Titus had never chased a woman so long before.
And failed to get anywhere.
Adara might rely on him, need him, but she didn’t want him, not in the way a woman desired a man.
Which bothered him less than it should have.
“We’re in Hell. We’d be remiss if we didn’t check. We’ll go to our own chambers now then. Let us know if you need us,” Titus declared, then snapped his fingers at Logan before he stupidly shifted and argued with Adara.
“See you in the morning.” Or whatever passed for it.
The door shut, and their guide sniffed. “Now, if you will follow me to your rooms finally, I have other duties to attend.”
The Ifrit took off at a rapid pace, and showed them a pair of rooms, side by side, far from Adara. Only once they were alone did Logan shift and grumble, “Doesn’t seem right leaving her alone. We are in Hell.”
“We are. But for Adara, this is close to home.” A place Titus didn’t be
long.
Chapter Fourteen
The field appeared darker than in his recollection, and this despite the brightness of the two suns in the sky. But Desmond cared not for the swaying of the grass, he was in this dream for one reason alone.
A lone figure stood staring off in the distance, the white tunic and leggings so familiar to him. How many times had he peeled them from her body?
And even took her while she wore them a few times.
“Erela.” Desmond spoke her name softly, yet he might as well have shouted it given how her body stiffened before she turned.
Her expression lacked a warm welcome, a reminder of the change between them. No more did she run into Desmond’s arms with a smile and a kiss. Anger flashed in her gaze.
Not love.
He ignored the pang of disappointment. He wasn’t here to give in to emotion and lament about the past. He couldn’t fix it, and Erela had made it clear that things were over.
Yet he wasn’t about to walk away. Giving up? That was for cowards. He was a fighter.
She held up a hand and said, “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“So you invaded my dream? You aren’t supposed to be here. Who let you into my bedroom?”
“I’m not in your bedroom.” He wasn’t even in his own, but a chamber specially built to amplify the magic needed to dreamwalk. An ability he’d only recently mastered. How it would have changed things if he’d managed to do it before.
“How are you here? You have to touch me to be drawn into my nightmare.” She swept her hand.
“Is that how you remember our trysts? That seems rather harsh,” was his wry reply.
A statement that brought a thunderous expression. Her eyes sparked. “Trysts? They were the making of my downfall. A weakness I won’t repeat.”
Said so definitively, and yet Desmond couldn’t help but remember that moment on the boat when she stood by his side. Partners in battle. He wanted her as his equal for life.