Demon from the Dark iad-10

by Kresley Cole

  That male was gone, replaced by a seething Scarba who'd looked like he wanted her heart on a platter.

  And who might have murdered his own mother. That tidbit hadn't been in the dossier. And still Carrow thought, If he did it, then the demoness must've had it coming.

  Lanthe studied her face. "If he was perfect for you before, he no longer is now. You have to get him out of your head, have to move on. You heard him, he wants to kill you. I know this well—there are some things males can't forgive, even of their mates."

  "Like Thronos?"

  Lanthe shrugged. "Even if you got a chance to tell the demon why you did it, he might just punish Ruby as well, including her in his revenge. He is still a Trothan demon at heart, after all."

  "You're right." Carrow hadn't thought about that. "He can't know about her."

  "Why did you let yourself come to care for the demon when you knew how this would end?"

  "It just happened." She'd already been teetering on the brink when he'd gazed down at her and called her "wife." The pride in his expression had pushed her over the edge. Carrow was a woman not accustomed to being cherished, and he'd made her feel that way, every minute of the day.

  "The Order must have known you'd be his," Lanthe said. "I'm becoming more and more convinced they have an immortal informant, a soothsayer able to direct them."

  "I'd thought the same."

  "There are too many connected Loreans here for it to be coincidence. They use mates and loved ones as leverage to force us to do their bidding. Even to capture our own. That's part of the reason they've been able to fill up so quickly around here."

  "What do you think they're doing with Malkom?" Carrow asked.

  "They won't kill him. No matter how much Chase will want to."

  "What did Fegley mean by Chase and the cookie jar?"

  "He tortures Regin repeatedly," Lanthe said. "There's some kind of sick interest going on there. And he's losing favor—inmate whispers say that Chase argues constantly with his superior, some nameless, faceless man who wants to study us. Whereas Chase only wants to exterminate us."

  Carrow pinched her forehead, beset with worry for Malkom.

  Lanthe patted her shoulder. "Look, what's done is done. You need to focus on keeping Ruby safe and healthy. And, of course, on escaping so you can slay Fegley."

  Carrow vowed, "It's going to be bloody—"

  Malkom's sudden roar echoed down the ward; she gave a cry. "He's being held here, in this very corridor!"

  Malkom had awakened to the thundering of his own heart, finding himself in some bizarre cell, his body riddled with injuries. When he'd comprehended that he was not in his world, not with his woman, a roar of anguish had been wrenched from his chest.

  Betrayed yet again. Not by her, not my female, too. But now he gazed down and saw that a collar like hers ringed his neck. A slave collar. He gripped it in two fists, yanking with all his strength. Nothing. It budged not one inch.

  She'd turned him into a slave once more....

  "I will kill you, witch!" he bellowed. Could she hear him? Was she near? He sensed that she was, just as he had that first night in Oblivion when she'd concealed herself from him.

  It didn't matter where she was; he would pursue her to the ends of this world and any others.

  He rose unsteadily on his injured legs, barely able to limp to the wall of glass that kept him jailed. Other creatures from a number of factions were imprisoned behind similar transparent walls, eyeing him warily.

  When he pounded the glass with his fists, a male murmured from a distance, "One more hit against that wall, vemon, and you'll be breathing poisoned air." He sounded amused, his accent reminding Malkom of the vampires'. "The mortals diffuse it from the ceiling."

  The mortals—the same order of soldiers that had come to his world repeatedly.

  What did they want from him? Why had they sent Carrow to Oblivion to lure him out?

  Their trap had worked so well. Malkom had wanted what she'd offered so damned badly. Everything between him and the witch over the last week—the best of his life—had been part of yet another betrayal.

  At the portal opening, she'd behaved as if she regretted deceiving him, but nothing she said or did could be trusted. She'd also told him they'd be bound forever. And he'd stupidly believed her. When would he learn? If you believe, then you invite misery.

  Malkom had been born just to be punished.

  Just not by her. He roared to the ceiling again, his eyes going wet with loss. I would relive all those treacheries to take this one back.

  On the heels of that gut-wrenching feeling of loss, fury set in, a wrath demanding to be appeased. He was born to be the punisher as well. Malkom had meted out retribution to anyone who'd betrayed him.

  Carrow would fare no differently. He would determine a way to get free, then hunt her down.

  Malkom had turned on Kallen, whom he'd loved as a brother. The witch would pay a thousand times over.

  Those who betray me do it only once.

  Chapter 28

  Screams echoed off the cell walls—captives' shrieks of madness, frustration, and impotent rage.

  I'll be joining them soon, Carrow thought darkly. Nearly another week trapped here. How much longer could they continue?

  She'd never minded jail before. Because there'd always been an end in sight. Now her guilt over what she'd done to Malkom ate at her. She hadn't heard anything about him, or from him, in days.

  And something was coming down the pipeline. Her senses were on red alert. She couldn't rest, couldn't eat the mortals' gruel. The hum from the lights above—so slight for humans—was beginning to sound like a swarm of killer bees to Carrow.

  Any plan she devised to escape depended on leaving the cell. Yet not one of them had been allowed outside of it.

  Only two things broke up the monotony: finding out gossip from the inmates and watching the traffic in the ward. Again and again, Carrow's friends and allies were led away, only to return different.

  She and Lanthe tried to shield Ruby from the sight, shoving her behind the metal screen, but the girl refused to mind Carrow, always peering out.

  That child was going to need so much therapy.

  Now Carrow and Lanthe were sitting in their customary spot against the wall. It was night—they thought—and a storm was building outside, a dull drum on the roof. Ruby sang and played imaginary hopscotch, while the other two Sorceri lay on their bottom bunk, facing each other, whispering and laughing.

  Carrow glared over at them together, not buying the whole lovers-for-centuries thing. Being in a relationship that long took a lot of commitment, and she just didn't see either of those Sorceri taking the plunge.

  Plus, Carrow would be insanely jealous if it were true. Her eyes watered. I could've had something like that with Malkom. Hundreds of years of loving each other...

  "Carrow?" Lanthe said.

  "Huh? Got something in my eye. So what's on the inmate grapevine today?"

  Yesterday they'd heard in whispers that Chase and his superior were still butting heads about the overcrowding here. Chase pushed to have all the immortals destroyed, not studied, not weaponized. But so far, he hadn't gotten his way.

  And there was talk that the Sorceri species was the next rotation to be examined.

  Lanthe answered, "Evidently the Order is now infecting beings to make ghouls, hundreds of them. If those creatures escape ..."

  "If they escape? Try when! Two things that can never be contained? Velociraptors and zombies."

  Lanthe tilted her head at her. "It's enough to put one on edge, I suppose."

  Carrow knew she was on the verge of losing it, especially since Malkom had gone quiet.

  At first, he'd been roaring constantly, even bellowing in English, his vocabulary improving hourly. He'd banged on the walls until the entire building had seemed to shake. He'd been sedated repeatedly, only to wake up more enraged.

  Until one morning, he'd grown silent. It'd been even worse
for Carrow when his bellows had died down.

  Added to this, Ruby was now singing They Might Be Giants' "Particle Man." Over and over. Carrow had taught her to sing it on repeat to annoy others—not herself. She muttered to the ceiling, "Amanda, I never knew."

  "Particle Man, Particle Man, doing the things a particle can."

  Between gritted teeth, she said, "Ruby, stop singing."

  She pouted, flouncing to the foot of the Sorceri's bunk. "You said we were going home!" She reminded Carrow of that constantly.

  Emberine rose and tsked. "Carrow is mean, isn't she?"

  Carrow no longer tried to keep Ruby separated from the Sorceri. Because of their being trapped in a ten-by-ten-foot cell together and all. The two were continually slinking around Ruby, gazing at her with interest, tilting their heads at the girl as if they couldn't quite place something about her.

  "You've been sharp with her," Lanthe murmured.

  Carrow hissed back, "Don't you feel the tension?"

  "From you."

  "You're the one who told me to be firmer with her."

  "Particle Man, Particle Man—"

  Carrow leapt to her feet. "Ruby, damn it! I said no."

  Lanthe yanked her to the other side of the cell, muttering, "Gods, Carrow, why didn't you just snap, 'Mummy has a headache! Go fetch Mummy's scotch!'?"

  Ember cried, "Hide the wire hangers!"

  Ruby asked, "Why hide the wire hangers?"

  Portia patted her head. "May you never find out."

  "I told her not to sing, and she's still doing it"—Carrow leaned around Lanthe to glare at Ruby—"just to annoy me."

  "Of course, that's it," Lanthe said. "Not because she's seven, with no toys or anything else to occupy her. Think about it—the high point of our day is when they drag by victims."

  Earlier, it'd been Regin again. As the guards had hauled the Valkyrie past Carrow's cell, her normally radiant skin had been ghostly. Blood had streamed from her mouth.

  "Carrow ... is that y-you?" She'd coughed, spattering crimson. "Can't s-see."

  Carrow had leapt to the glass, motioning for Lanthe to cover Ruby's eyes. "I'm here!" she'd said, cringing at the V of staples that tracked from Regin's collarbone down toward her stomach. Vivisection.

  "Kill him, witch!" Regin's voice had sounded crazed, her amber eyes darting blindly and spilling with tears. "Curse Chase. He ordered this." Never have I seen fearless Regin cry. "He is Aidan the Fierce. T-tell my sisters."

  "Aidan, the berserker?" Carrow had heard Regin speak of him before.

  "Aidan the Betrayer," she'd screamed as they dragged her away, "Aidan the Defiler!" To the guards, she'd shrieked, "You fools! You're following one of our kind! You take orders from one of us. ..."

  Centuries ago, Aidan—one of Woden's berserker warriors—had fallen in love with Regin, one of Woden's beloved daughters. Aidan had been killed, but he'd continued to reincarnate, seeking Regin in different lifetimes.

  Could Chase be Aidan? And why would Regin believe Carrow could escape before Regin ever could?

  Now Carrow exhaled. "You're right, Lanthe. I am freaking out." She pinched the bridge of her nose and lowered her voice. "But I have a male in the same building who wants to gruesomely murder me!"

  Lanthe scoffed. "Like I don't?"

  "One day you'll have to tell me what went down with you and Thronos."

  "What went down? How apropos," she said, her tone cryptic. Before Carrow could question her, Lanthe said, "But that's a story for another time. We're predicting your gruesome murder now. And speak of the demon, they intend to bring him out."

  "How can you tell?"

  "Look, they have twice the number of guards as usual, and they're heading for the end of the ward. So it's either Slaine or Lothaire."

  Let it be Lothaire.

  Carrow snapped her fingers at Ruby. "Go behind the screen."

  "Crow, I wanna see—"

  "Now!"

  Chapter 29

  The witch is in a dark building, filled with screeching sounds and intermittent explosions of light. Dressed in skintight leather trews and a skimpy vest, she dances provocatively atop a table with a redheaded friend. Together they tease scores of males.

  Drunken from spirits, Carrow leisurely begins unfastening her top. One button, then the next. The crowd cheers wildly, throwing colored necklaces at her, urging her on. She holds the edges of her loosed top together, shimmying forward, working the males into a furor.

  When their calls grow deafening, she proudly displays her breasts, shoulders back and chin lifted.

  Malkom jerked upright on his cot, waking into a fresh rage. How could she let those men leer at her body like that? Why taunt their desires?

  Just as she had with him!

  He rose, pacing his cell. Yet another new memory of the witch's. Though they'd begun coming each time he slept, full-blown scenes like this were rare—but always similar. Dimly lit buildings, blaring sounds, her drunken carousing.

  Most of the time, there were only impressions, words whispered in his mind. The witch had oft repeated to herself, Think of ruby, while experiencing a keen longing. What did that mean? What was this thing that she yearned for so badly? A ruby? A stone?

  He wanted to know so he could deprive her of it, as part of his vengeance.

  "Another bad dream, vemon?" the strange male intoned. "It's a hazard of drinking blood."

  Days ago, Malkom had matched the voice to a being in the cell diagonal from his—a vampire called Lothaire, one with light red eyes, which meant he was fallen—a crazed Horde vampire.

  Like the Viceroy and the master.

  Spurred to slaughter that vampire, Malkom had barreled his head against the glass, too late forgetting his horns had been cut. Blood had run from his head. Hadn't mattered. He'd launched himself against the glass over and over until the mortals had knocked him unconscious again.

  Upon Malkom's awakening, Lothaire had ridiculed him: "Fool. You sleep excessively for someone who has so much to learn."

  Then the cycle had repeated.

  Yet soon, Malkom had decided that the vampire was right. He did have much to learn. He needed to discover a way to reach the witch and escape with her. And he needed to speak Anglish as well as he understood it, to unlock her language more quickly than he'd ever anticipated.

  So he'd stopped fighting and started listening to those around him, observing all he could. At times, he could just make out the witch's voice. She was definitely within this building.

  So near ... She'd given him a taste of her body, he'd taken tastes of her blood, and he needed more—even as he hated her. While he'd been ready to lay down his life for her, had surrendered himself to his worst enemy, she'd coldly plotted his downfall.

  Now Lothaire asked, "What did you dream of this time?"

  Malkom paced in front of the glass, fully healed now and even more desperate to contend with that vampire, any vampire. Desperate for freedom.

  Lothaire sighed. "And still you want to kill me? When I know what you are—and where you can find more of your kind?"

  More of his kind? Exactly how many were made? "What do you want with me, leech?" Malkom's words came haltingly, but he'd nearly recovered his understanding of this language. As Carrow's memories had begun to accumulate with his own, they'd acted like a puzzle key in his mind.

  "You call me leech, when you've just woken from a blood-borne dream? You're as much a vampire as I."

  "I am no vampire," he grated, even as his mind flashed to that searing image of the witch's breast pierced by his fangs. The crimson drops ... "I've spent my life ending things like you."

  "Your old life, perhaps. But this is a new existence for you. And you need information to survive."

  "Information only you can give me?" Malkom sneered.

  "Precisely. In exchange for your allegiance once we escape."

  "Allegiance? The last vampire who sought my loyalty fared ill," Malkom said.

  "What did you do to him?"
/>
  "He lived to see his blood and most of his flesh painting the walls." The Viceroy had pleaded to die, beseeching Malkom with bloody tears. "Watch that you do not end up like him."

  "You're only impressing me. And whetting my appetite."

  "I swear allegiance to no one."

  "That's your first mistake in our world, ScArba."

  Malkom clenched his fists at that word. "You act as if freedom is nigh."

  "Perhaps yours. You see, I took something from someone very powerful. Once the waters recede, she's going to come for it. She will unleash hell—since I cannot."

  Whatever that meant.

  "Now that you're healed, the mortals will begin studying you," Lothaire said. "Whenever you leave your cell, there's a chance for escape. Of course, there's a certainty of pain."

  Malkom worked to block him out, wondering why he'd ever answered the vampire in the first place.

  Because he intrigued me with his knowledge of what I am.

  "Perhaps if you broke free, you could be reunited with your pretty witch?"

  At that, Malkom lunged to the glass. "What do you know of her? Where is she?"

  "Carrow Graie is close."

  "Where? Damn you, tell me how to get to her!"

  "The guards approach. They're going to take either you or me."

  If Malkom could leave this cell, would he see her? Since he was able to speak so much more freely, he needed to communicate with her. To tell her that he thought she was more of a whore than his own mother. To inform her that he was going to enslave her, put her in chains, and fuck her tender body raw.

  At the thought, he grew hard as stone.

  Now he felt relief that he hadn't taken her before. If he'd claimed her that last day, his seed could have been quickening inside her right now. Trapped in this cell, he would have no control over the offspring she carried.

  The idea of her growing big with his babe...

  He slammed his fist into the wall, hating her anew for how badly he still wanted that.

  Suddenly he smelled the fog with which they sedated him, spreading through the air.