by Smith, H. D.
Mace threw his will back at Cinnamon with enough force to shake the walls. She countered and deflected his attempt with no effort. It was obvious now why he needed her cooperation. An uncooperative Cinnamon would be impossible to control.
She deflected another of Mace’s attacks before suspending him by the throat with her will. She smashed him into the wall, cracking the plaster. He attempted to say something, but she was too mad to listen. She flung him across the room again, nearly throwing him through the wall. He staggered as he stood, catching the edge of the dresser for support. He held his hands up, putting his will between them. With a wave of her hand, she batted his protection away. He was going to lose. His eyes found mine.
“She owns you,” I mouthed.
His violet eyes flared with cold fire just before he dropped to one knee. He bowed his head toward Cinnamon. “I can explain,” he said.
She raised her hand to strike. Glaring, she closed her fist. “You know I don’t trust her, so tell me quickly before I kill you for involving her.”
“She contacted me,” he said. “I swear it on our mother’s name.”
Cinnamon’s demeanor changed. Her shoulders relaxed. Dropping her hand to her side, she released him.
“What?” I said, glancing between them.
She was still furious, but something was different.
Mace stood, glaring at me.
Cinnamon smoothed out her dress. She was cool and collected again, as if she hadn’t just wiped the floor with him. In her normal voice, she asked, “Why did she contact you?”
He ran his hand through his hair and tugged the sleeves of his jacket down. He didn’t appear as un-fazed as Cinnamon, but his cool hardened visage was back. In a quiet, deadly tone, he said, “Why do you think?”
Cinnamon cocked one of her perfect eyebrows.
“She knows everything that happens in Purgatory. Did you think your presence there went unnoticed?”
Her lips pinched into a hard line. “Then why didn’t she contact me?”
“I have no idea.”
He was lying. The aunt—Mab—may have contacted him first, but he was willingly helping her now.
A line appeared between Cinnamon’s brows. “I was the one in Purgatory.”
He answered with a small nod. “True, but maybe she wanted to make sure you weren’t just there to piss off Daddy.”
“As if I would ever willingly stay in Purgatory,” Cinnamon scoffed.
I didn’t understand why she hated Purgatory. She was half pagan. Of course, I didn’t want to go back either, and I’d only been there a few hours.
I pressed into the wall when Mace walked toward me.
“Mab found me in a very bad state.” He shrugged. “I thought I was the butler, as if Collins was my master. She saved me,” he said, glancing back at Cinnamon. “Before we could save you,” his brows lifted at me, “Claire found you.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but there was nothing to say. Everything about why I found Cinnamon was from the future. My throat tightened just at the thought.
“Claire knows something we don’t. She knows who did this to us, and she will tell us, or I’ll kill her,” Mace said, although I doubted he would do it quickly. He’d want to play first.
“Ask the demons—Lily, ask Lily. Please,” I begged.
Mace leaned in, crowding me against the wall. I reached up to shove him away, but dropped my hands when the shock of touching him increased.
Cinnamon stepped up, putting her hand on his shoulder. She tugged. Mace resisted at first, continuing to pin me with his stare. She tugged again. He dropped his shoulder, pulling out of her hold and paced toward the door.
She pushed the hair back from my face. Running her hand down my arm, she stopped just before passing the metal band. “You have one chance to tell me the truth, Claire,” Cinnamon said. “Who is Maliki?”
She was deadly serious. I couldn’t hide the truth, and she was done wasting time. She’d throw me back to the demons if I lied, or let Mace finish me off. She didn’t care.
I couldn’t give her the answer I wanted to give her. My throat tightened. The double was off limits. I’d have to give them Junior. Not as if that would save me from Mace. I would save myself another way. Blinking back the sting of tears, I said, “Junior.”
You could have heard a pin drop it was so quiet.
Before she could comment, Mace was behind her, a hand on one arm. He muttered a few words in Ancient. Through my connection with her, a strong surge of power washed over me, just as it had when Charles touched me in Purgatory.
For a moment, I trusted Mace completely.
Cinnamon’s hand dropped from my arm, as a very sweet scent wafted in the air. Moments later the spell rolled back over me—away from me. I no longer trusted him any more than I had before. The sweet smell was gone.
Unfortunately, Cinnamon was still caught by the spell. I could see it in her eyes. I reached out to touch her hand, but winced when the bracelets shocked me. My hands fell away. I couldn’t help her. Mace’s eyes narrowed on me. He’d witnessed my attempt to de-spell her.
“Cinnamon,” he said, drawing her attention. Just as Charles had done in the garden.
“What?” she said, but her voice had lost its edge.
“You need to convince the twins that we must strike now, before Junior realizes his efforts to trap us have failed.”
Cinnamon’s face was pensive, as if she were considering his request. His hold wasn’t as strong. She had followed Charles without question.
In the garden, I’d felt love for Charles; this time it was trust for Mace. The spells were different, but oddly similar. Unfortunately, trust would probably be enough to make Cinnamon comply. She’d want revenge.
“We can end this now, before the situation becomes an issue,” Mace continued.
“What about Claire?” she asked.
My eyes locked on Mace.
“Would you like to keep her as a pet?” he asked, his eyebrow arched at me.
“I’m no one’s pet,” I said.
Cinnamon smiled. After a long moment, she sighed. “She wouldn’t be worth the trouble.”
“Let me go. You don’t need me. I don’t care what you do to Junior,” I lied.
Ignoring me, she turned to Mace. “I will speak with the twins.”
He locked the door behind her when she left. “You really shouldn’t have told Cinnamon about Mab.” He still faced the door. “I was just going to have some fun. Even after you messed up my plans.”
“Yeah, right.”
In a flash, he was in my face, flattening my body against the wall and twining his fingers in my hair. “Now I’m going to take everything from you. Your protection, your love, your freedom. Everything.”
I stifled a yelp when he put pressure on my shoulder. As he chanted in Ancient, his hand warmed. I whimpered from the heat that concentrated on the damage in my shoulder. I cried out as the soft tissue was mended and fused together.
He wiped away a tear. I resisted when he pulled me in for a kiss. Tightening his hold on my hair, he growled, “You’re mine now. Get used to it.”
Thirteen
I was sitting on the floor, when Mace returned two hours later. I’d been all over the room, but there was no way out. The windows were too high and small for me to reach, and the door was locked and warded.
My back straightened. I didn’t want him picking up where he’d left off. His hot kiss lingered on my lips, and pagans weren’t exactly picky about who they slept with. Sex was as precious to them as day old bread. I didn’t want him taking liberties with me. Just because he put no emotional attachment to it, didn’t mean I felt the same way.
He’d never shown any interest in me before—not that I’d spent that much time with him. Sorrel, on the other hand, had come on to me from the first moment I met him. He’d been clear from the get-go that he planned to have me in his bed. It never happened, but that was because he could be scared by the threat of his
father’s wrath. Mace had no such fear.
Mace sat down on the floor beside me. He still wore his suit pants, but the jacket was gone. His white button down was open at the collar, and his sleeves were rolled up. He placed a small silver tray on the floor next to him. I couldn’t see what was on it, but I caught the smell of something sweet.
He placed my arm on his lap, running a finger along the line of the bracelet at my wrist. “How are you feeling, Claire?”
Jerking my hand away, I said, “How the hell do you think I’m feeling? I want to leave.”
His lip turned up into that annoyingly handsome smirk of his. He pulled my arm back to his lap, this time keeping it trapped. “Would you like something to eat?”
As if on cue my stomach rumbled. I thought of the sweet aroma. I was hungry, but my stomach roiled at the thought of eating anything from him. I pressed my lips together.
He touched my hand, giving me a little shock.
I winced then growled, “No, thank you.”
His twisted smile faltered a bit. When he stroked the side of my face, I flinched. “I knew there was something special about you the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Yeah, I think you mean cursed.”
His hand was back on my wrist.
I hated the way he touched me. I wanted him to go away and leave me alone.
“It was the mark,” he said. “Father doesn’t mark just anyone, but he marked you.”
I frowned, drawing my brows together. The mark was a very painful reminder of The Boss’s power. I never gave much thought to whom else he might have marked.
“Do you know what it says?”
“Property of?” I offered.
“No,” he sneered, twisting my wrist to bare the mark. He sent a pulse of energy through my arm. Like it had at the deli, the mark illuminated. He ran his finger along the mark, sending a shiver down my spine. “The first two symbols here,” he gestured at the two closest to my wrist, “mean protected by. The last two,” he indicated the others, “are the symbols for my father.”
Protected by. The Keeper said the same thing. I didn’t buy it then, and I don’t buy it now. The Boss had proven too often how willing he was to leave me unprotected, but why would Mace lie?
“Protected by—or property of, I don’t see the difference,” I countered. “And if I’m so damn special and so damn protected then why am I here with you?”
I studied the mark. It had caused me nothing but pain—protected by the Demon King—what a joke. I remember the first day I saw the mark five years ago. The day everything changed.
Today was going to be another day like that one. Tears stung my eyes. Mace wasn’t going to let me go. The Boss wouldn’t save me once Junior died. I was screwed.
“Special is just another word for damned.” I blinked back the tears. I wouldn’t let Mace see me cry.
“You have no idea how wrong you are.” His voice was different. Distant—frustrated—hostile. He had some serious daddy issues. And I was somehow in the middle of his twisted game. “When I saw your mark, I did some research. Do you want to know what I found?”
“No, but you want to tell me, so go ahead.”
I don’t know what he expected me to say, but I tensed when he slid my arm back into his lap, running his finger along my wrist.
“Your mother, Melinda, made a deal with my father.”
I looked away. I didn’t want to hear his version of those events.
His hand cupped my face, forcing me to look at him. “Years later she died giving birth to you.”
“I know the story.” The Boss had explained it to me. When he told me I belonged to him.
Mace smiled, clutching my chin. “You think you know the story, but you don’t.” His grip tightened. “Now be quiet and pay attention while I finish.”
I resisted when he drew me in. Ignoring my pathetic attempts to avoid him, he gave me a quick chaste, kiss on the lips. Pagans were so damn confusing. I hated him, and I was sure the feeling was mutual, but he had no issues giving me a playful peck.
“Because of a loophole,” he continued. “She was allowed to go to Paradise instead of Hell.”
I didn’t have all the specifics, but he wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t already heard. I stayed quiet to avoid another kiss.
“Did you know he had the chance to close the loophole a few years ago?” Mace paused as if he expected an answer.
“How would I know that?” I asked quickly before he decided to encourage my participation.
He shrugged, picking up a strand of my hair. “It has been my experience that you know a lot of things you shouldn’t.”
He was right. I was the Devil’s assistant, obviously I’d know some things, but why he thought I’d know the inner workings of Paradise and Hell politics was beyond me.
Mace frowned. “Daddy didn’t take the deal. Do you know why?”
“No clue.”
He twined the loose strand he’d been playing with behind my ear. “Because if he had, the rule would have reversed completely.”
I waited for him to explain, but when he didn’t I asked, “That’s important because?”
He rubbed my wrist along the edge of the bracelet. “He didn’t change the law so your mother could stay in Paradise with her family.”
“Why would The Boss give a rat’s ass about one random soul?”
Mace’s grip hardened. The finger rubbing along the line of the bracelet slid over to the other side, shocking me. “Why do you think?”
I attempted to wrench my arm away. His grip tightened. An unnerving thought occurred. “Because of me?” Please don’t say it’s because of me.
Mace’s face steeled. “No, not because of you.”
“Then why?” I asked, jerking my arm from his grasp.
“It was because of his love for your mother.”
My mouth hung open. Love? I shook my head. He loved her? The Devil loved my mother? No, no, no. Panic suddenly hit me. “Are you saying he’s my—”
Mace scowled. “I never said she loved him. You’re not one of us.”
“Thank God, I’m not one of you psycho crazies,” I shouted.
He hated me—for something I couldn’t control. He hated me because his father loved my mother. Fuck.
“He protects you because of his feelings for her.”
“You’re wrong. He doesn’t protect me.”
Mace’s hatred was clouding his perception of how things really were. I’d never seen The Boss show the least bit of compassion for anyone, much less me. I couldn’t believe he loved my mother, or that she was the reason he did anything. But Mace certainly did, and that was a problem.
“She is his weakness,” he added. He caressed my face, his gaze fixed on me. “You’ve benefitted from that—not anymore.”
I laughed. “Benefitted, right. What world are you living in?”
His eyebrows rose when I denied his claim.
“I said I was going to take everything from you, Claire. That includes my father’s protection.” Mace smiled as he caressed the side of my cheek. “To do that, you’ll need to bind yourself to me.”
“What? Are you insane? I already belong to him. Property of or protected by—you can’t change that fact.”
Mace chuckled, shaking his head as if I were a simpleton that understood nothing. I pulled back when he moved in to kiss me. He fisted his hand in my hair, holding me still. “That’s where you’re wrong. He marked you because he doesn’t own you.”
“Hu—”
Mace tugged me forward crushing our lips together. His tongue possessively slipped into my mouth to take what he wanted. His kiss was long and deep and demanding. I didn’t want to be kissed. Not by him and not like this, but the bastard knew how to kiss. I was panting for breath when he released me.
“You’re lying,” I accused between jagged breaths. “The Boss owns me.”
Mace smiled and cocked one of his perfect eyebrows. “Did you like the kiss?”
&nbs
p; Speechless, I gaped at him. His smug smile pissed me off. “No, I didn’t like the kiss, you bastard.”
“You’re lying.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. I shook my head. “I don’t want you.”
He shrugged. “What you want is irrelevant.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s been irrelevant for the last five years—because he owns me.”
Nothing I’d ever wanted mattered. I’d gone from one totally screwed up foster family to the next, until I turned sixteen—the age of maturity in Hell. Thanks to my mom, The Boss put his claim on me and that was it. What I wanted would never matter again. Mace couldn’t change that.
He smiled. “You know nothing. He can’t take an innocent’s soul, Claire. You have to willingly give yourself to him.” He stroked my face again. “I’m sure that’s something you’d never do.”
Impossible. The Boss owned me. He had to. Why else would he have taken me?
What if Mace is right? the voice whispered.
“He really doesn’t own me?” I asked, trying to confirm.
Mace’s grin didn’t waiver. It’s not true. Why wouldn’t Omar have told me? We were friends, sort of. I sagged back against the wall. Was nothing real?
Unless he couldn’t tell you.
I remembered how Omar acted at the office. He’d stopped in the middle of saying something, as if there were things about me that couldn’t be said.
I was pulled back to the present when the silver tray brushed my hand and sent a tiny shock up my arm. The tray was filled with five petit fours, decadent looking mini cake squares. It was a pastel smorgasbord of pink, purple, green, yellow, and blue. Their sugary smell filled my nostrils.
He clutched my face and peered into my eyes. “You’ll pledge yourself to me.”
He tightened his grip, stopping me before I could lean away.
“If you refuse,” he said, pecking me on the lips. “I’ll have my way with you, then throw you back in the basement with the demons. I don’t think Lily will save you this time.”
I was sure Lily wouldn’t help me again. I jerked my head away. “I don’t believe you. I belong to your father.”
Mace cupped my chin, drawing my face back to his. “How many people do you think carry his mark?”