by Jade Bones
“If he’s killed you once, how will you avoid him doing it a second time?”
A niggling question pops up at the back of my mind. More than one. Several, like, why did the portal drop us here and give us the key only to block our escape? Why did the gate appear back where we landed? Where the hell is this place? And why has everything been easy so far, all things considered?
But my questions don’t seem as important as the fact that our bond is finally doing something right. And everything pales compared to the way Daerek is looking at me right now.
Holding up the key, I force my expression into the kind of fierce badassery that I’ll need to get out of here. That we’ll need. “Because I’m hoping the grave is telling me to trust that the physical key begins with this illusion.”
Six
Daerek
The crisp air folds around us as we fall, my hands clasped protectively to Stacey’s waist. I think I might need some re-conditioning after this, because flying with her pressed so close to me is still making my dick hard, and that’s just inconvenient.
Who would have thought she could kiss like that?
I won’t lie, I’ll be jerking off to the memory of that for a long time. The only problem is, it isn’t just my cock that’s appreciative of the last few hours.
It’s like I’m seeing a different Stacey down here. She’s fighting for her life, and it’s a good look on her. I always loved riling her up, but now I don’t want to stir her just because it’s fun, but because I can’t wait to see what she does with all that anger. I can’t wait to see whose head rolls.
I’m not really sure what to make of that, so I don’t.
We land in the corner, the ghosts maintaining their silent vigil of us without making a move. It’s eerie as fuck. All my senses are on edge as I wait for one of them to break, but they don’t. It has to be another trap.
“Rowdy bunch, aren’t they?” Stacey says, twirling the key around one finger as she studies our adversary. “How do you reckon we do this? Shield spell?”
I reckon I take my blades, charge them with ethereal iron, and slaughter an army of ghosts while my witch commands me from afar, but that isn’t what Stacey would want. She thinks this illusion will sort itself out, and I can’t be the one to crush her hope.
I’m just the one to pick up the pieces when it fails. Particularly when our only other option would destroy our bond for good. Turning this place into a battlefield is a last resort, nothing more. By whatever miracle, Stacey still hasn’t seen my blades, and I intend to keep it that way.
I grit my teeth together and force myself to shrug. “Whatever pleases you.”
Something flashes across her face, too quick to follow, and she turns away.
“I think we shield,” she says, lips moving silently as she begins to count the ghosts. “I don’t have any spells to destroy ghosts, since I’ve no idea how I resurrected them before, and there’s too many to risk it. But I’m damn good with a shield.”
My lips quirk, irrationally impressed at the way she takes control, even if it isn’t what I would do. “Take what you need, then.”
I close my eyes and feed on the lingering joy from our flight, from the kiss we shared moments before it. I’m already close to capacity, having fed so recently before we fell, but any extra charge will help in this fight.
Stacey gasps, and I crack one eye open to watch her. It’s exactly the kind of distraction I don’t need right now, but the itch to fall into a total brawl with these undead bastards is still too raw. Something has to take its place, and if that something is the way I’m now itching to shove Stacey up against the nearest wall and take her apart, so be it.
Besides, she loves it. I can sense her easier since the kiss, and she’s learning to sense me too. Heat flushes her cheeks, her blood pumping faster.
When we get out of here, I’m going to devour her.
For now, I work on giving her all my power. In a few minutes, her eyes snap open, and a flicker of magic shines within them. It’s hot like demon fire, and an answering call ignites within me.
The air shimmers with power, and a shield encloses over the two of us. Stacey takes a slow breath, but she doesn’t reach for my hand this time. This tunnel no longer seems to signal the end for us. If Stacey is right—and her unnerving sense of having lived this in a past life suggests she could be—all we need to do is reach the gate, turn the key and…
I frown, following behind as Stacey leads the way through the unnervingly quiet ghosts. Why would a portal drop us down here, give us a key, and then block us from using it?
The back of my neck prickles. I’ve been so caught up on trying to be what Stacey needs me to be, I missed the obvious signs. The overwhelming sense of a trap closing in grows stronger.
Reaching out, I clasp hold of Stacey’s shoulder, drawing her to a halt. “Wait,” I murmur.
But when she turns to me, the fear in her eyes stabs straight through my heart. I falter, and the shield around us sparks. Shit—the bond. If I tell her my suspicions, terror will eclipse any of her remaining joy, and we’ll be thrown right in the middle of a squadron of murderous ghosts with no power to fight them.
I know I’m a good kisser, but even my afterglow can’t beat that.
So I defer, sinking into it like an old coat. “Let me go first.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because I want to make an entrance,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Why do you think? So I can protect you of course.”
It’s only half the information; I’m sure this is another trap, and if anyone is to trigger it, it’ll be me. Not Stacey. I swear it.
But my half-truth doesn’t have the desired effect.
Fury flashes across her face, and she takes a step away from me, then another. “Protect me, how? By opening the door onto a ghost? Massaging my shoulders before throwing me in the ring?” She snorts. “Please. Let’s stick to what we know you want, and I’ll get us out of here so you can have it.” She throws that last one at me like a weapon, and fuck if it doesn’t sting.
The edges of my vision blur, anger stirring in my blood as I realize she thinks I want her as some kind of fuck-buddy and nothing else.
I should walk away. Summon my swords and show her how well I can open a fucking door.
But I’ve seen the fear in her eyes before when she’s exposed to the true face of hell. Maybe my demonic birthright didn’t do it, but when she remembers demons are still trained as warriors... When she realizes I am, beneath it all, a warrior of hell…
Goodbye, bond.
I won’t do it.
So, I grit my teeth and let her pull away from me, like I always do. I tamp down my strongest instincts for the good of our soulbond.
If the fire in my blood burns in resentment, it’s my own damn problem.
You stupid little demon. Is this really what we lost our throne for?
I stumble to a halt. “What the fuck was that?”
Stacey half turns towards me. “Who am I to know the mysteries of your internal monolog? It was probably the sound of your own ego trying to make your head bigger so it could fit.”
“Stacey, I’m serious…” I turn in a slow circle, palms loose by my side, ready to summon. “There’s something else here with us. I heard her voice.”
A different expression crosses her face. “Wait, what did it sound like?”
Like a god. I don’t say that; she might take it the wrong way.
But that voice sounded like… like all my dreams come true. Like every twisted, aching, broken piece of my soul was being held up to the light and given permission to exist.
And like a bit of a bitch, if I’m honest. She did insult me after all.
“She said they lost their throne,” I say, studying the faces of the closest ghosts for a sign that someone else is hiding amongst them in a fun Halloween edition of Where’s Waldo. “If we’re a few thousand years in the past, who would say that?”
“Gee, I don’t know, h
ow about I just whip out my history notes real quick?”
The terror is rising in Stacey’s voice, despite how she tries to hide it. This voice has her rattled more than anything else down here, and I can’t fix it. I can’t bring her joy when everything is falling to utter shit, and we’re stuck in an unknown place and time in the midst of battle-worn soldiers.
The shield around us flickers.
I realize too late what’s about to happen. White-hot panic floods my veins, and I charge through the crowd towards Stacey, not caring that a dozen cobwebby dead hands grasp at me, electric shocks surging in defense. I have to reach her, I have to—
I’m too late.
In all the months I’ve spent imagining our bond failing, I never thought about what would happen when it did.
Stacey’s energy flickers, her joy fading, my magic stuttering as I try to support her and can’t. I know what my ancestors would do—they’d drain her to the core and solve the problem themselves.
One of the gate sentries turns to me, its blackened eyes somehow lit with an inner fire. Its warped smile, skin partially destroyed, grows in more than size. The skin’s translucence shimmers, firming up as I watch. They’re getting stronger. Somehow, they’re drawing on fresh power and—
The soldier winks at me, his human face vanishing for half a second. Not long, but long enough to remember what he really is. My heart turns ice cold as I remember these aren’t human soldiers, no matter what mask they wear. They’re demons, and they’re doing exactly what my ancestors do best.
That’s what this has been about since the start. That’s why they dragged us here; we were never meant to get the key.
We were meant to die for it.
As soon as the thought surfaces, rage and fear mixing together in a potent combination that does absolutely fucking nothing to help us, a deep drumming echoes in the walls and the world goes black.
Seven
Stacey
It’s the drumming that really does it for me. Nothing like the ancient call of a marching army to really drive home that you’re in over your head.
I don’t get it. Our bond was so strong, I was happy, and then suddenly… nothing. Not even a drop of power within my grasp. It’s never been so bad before, but I suppose I’ve never taken on a squadron of ghosts before.
The pounding beat rises, faster and faster, tapping directly into the fourteenth century peasant that resides in my blood and leaving me with an overwhelming urge to vacate the village and flee to the mountains. I try to catch Daerek’s eye, to get any kind of extra power from him, anything he can spare, but the swirling figures around me are too thick to see past. Or through. Because there are so damn many of them.
They’re multiplying.
Guess I didn’t read that tombstone’s message right after all.
And that’s the last coherent thought I have before something knocks me over the head and I pass out.
Some unknown number of hours later, the first thing that pops into my mind is at least I’m out of that goddamn pit.
The second is this must be the punishment for wanting to bone a demon, because I don’t know why else I would be chained to a wall in what looks like Dr Frankenstein’s laboratory. Giant slab, mysteriously bubbling glass jars, red splatters on the walls that I’m fairly sure aren’t from a wine lunch. The chains are just high enough to make me queasy, the floor a good handful of yards away from my feet.
If I was being snide, I’d say they’d done it for the aesthetic, but looking around the room it’s so freaking crowded I assume this was a practical solution. There’s simply no room for prisoners on the floor; got to optimize that vertical space.
Chains rattle across the room, and I squint through the darkness to see Daerek straining against his own matching set of manacles. His demon form has receded, leaving a very human Daerek glaring up at his chains. He looks like he’s about to rip them straight from the wall without any magic at all. Even in the dimness, his muscles ripple visibly beneath his shirt.
It makes something stir within me, but there’s absolutely no time to examine that.
“Where are we?” I call out in the loudest whisper I can manage.
“No clue,” he answers without even looking, like he knew I was awake all along and didn’t even try to talk to me.
That hurts. “Wow,” I say before I can question my choices. “I know I wanted you to drop the act and start being more about you and less about me, but there’s a time and a place.”
He stops tugging at the manacles and looks over at me, brown hair falling in front of his face like a shield. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m just saying, we’re in mortal danger—an ‘oh hey, Stacey, how are you doing over there on your side of the torture chamber’ would be nice.”
“I meant the other part.”
“Huh?” It’s my turn to look confused. “Oh. Wanting you to be more honest?”
The furrow in his brow deepens. “Is that what that meant?”
“Well, yeah.” I shrug, the movement somewhat awkward by the fact my hands are chained above my head. “You know. All the chocolate and holding doors and all that crap you don’t really mean…” I trail off, not sure what to make of his expression. “You don’t have to do that.”
Daerek scoffs, and all my awkwardness evaporates in place of rage.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m a joy demon,” he says, the words slow and rough. “I very much do have to do that.”
“That’s exactly the problem, then, isn’t it?” I snap. “How can I trust a demon that feeds on my joy?”
“I only want what you want.” His tone is incredulous; he still doesn’t get it.
Even I can’t predict the depth of resentment and bitterness in my next words. “You only say that to make me happy.”
Daerek falls silent, and for once I see genuine shock on his face. “You don’t believe any of it.”
I laugh, the sound a little wet. “Of course not. It’s not real.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but he can’t, can he? Because we’d both know he was lying. Daerek freezes, chewing on his lip before finally saying, “If I stop doing that and do what comes naturally instead… you won’t want me around anymore. Trust me.”
Something in his voice sends shivers down my spine. The shadows dance across his face, hiding the green of his eyes and making them appear black again. Like his demon face.
Once, I thought I wouldn’t want that.
That ship has definitely sailed. “How do you know?”
He laughs, but it’s soft and bitter. “Because, when it comes down to it, I’m not especially nice, love.”
Jesus. My eyes flutter closed because goddamn I need a second to process that. It should not be the sort of thing that gives me butterflies, but here we are.
When I open them again, he’s looking at me like I’m a particularly delicious chocolate laid out on his hotel pillow.
“Ah fuck,” I mutter, heat building between my legs. Well now I have to get out of these chains.
I glare up at them, willing all my urgency to turn into power and shatter the manacles, but they hold fast.
Except… now I’m looking at them… I notice something I hadn’t before.
“They’re ghosts,” I mutter, shaking my wrists and watching how the metal turns translucent and flickers, pale and ancient in that half a second I see its true form. “This whole chamber—” I turn back to the room, and this time it appears as it truly is.
The illusion is powerful, but true natures can’t be concealed. Particularly not from me, not when I’ve been working so hard to reveal them.
The slab shimmers in and out of view; one moment it’s pristine. Well, not pristine. Blood-splattered, but solid. The next, I can see right through to the other side, and the layer of dust on top of it is a thick slab of its own.
The tubes aren’t bubbling. They’re cobwebbed and broken.
The boxes piled across
every square foot of the floor are mangy piles of rat-eaten cardboard.
This entire room is a ghost.
My gaze lifts slowly to Daerek’s, and I watch as he silently catalogs everything I’ve just noticed.
“They’re taking care of duty,” he says slowly.
“Who are? The demons?” I ask, urgency making my voice higher than usual. “So, we’re, what, in some forgotten pit down in hell, and the ghosts are carrying out their old orders? Where do they get the power to last so long?”
“I think so.”
“What are their orders?” I insist. “What is it that demon warriors do?”
There’s something in his expression, something I don’t want to know.
“It depends what this pit was for,” Daerek begins, and I can tell he’s choosing his words so carefully.
He’s always choosing his words so fucking carefully. Christ, can’t he be honest for once? When it’s so important that I know what we’re up against?
“Tell me,” I demand, and the words don’t sound like my own. I can hear the echo of another voice within them, a voice that has whispered wake up to me for weeks now.
Daerek freezes, a flush rising on his cheeks. He wets his lips. “They drain witches.”
My blood runs cold. “What for?” I whisper.
“Their army.”
Army? What fucking army? I’ve studied demons ever since my witch powers appeared, for years and years, and I’ve never heard of an army.
Witches and demons. Perfect power synthesis. Born and raised to lead society, because who else is more suited? That’s what we’re taught.
What army?
There’s an answer to that, back in the center of the pit with the squadron of demons. That army, I assume, except they’re no longer fighting a battle. They’re guarding a gate.
I open my mouth to ask Daerek what it all means, but something else comes out of my mouth instead. What I hear, in a voice one hundred percent not my own, is, “Stop running, little demon. Your witch needs you.”