by S J Doran
Andrus nodded, his eyes lit up. “The fates. I told you the sword is regarded to be a harbinger, and as such there are several prophecies attached to it. Most of them involve the end of times, the Apocalypse.”
“So why come to me? I don’t have it on my person. You just stated that Amara has it in her possession,” he ran a hand into his hair, the sudden need to see her, to ensure for himself that the god spoke truth nearly suffocating him.
“The warlock is out of our reach. Her contract with the Death God ensures that the rest of us keep our hands off, Namtar is not one to cross. Kali is the only one powerful and resentful enough to thwart him. But unlike the rest of us, the Goddess rather enjoys the prospect of Armageddon”
Andrus set his glass down and walked back to where Cass stood. “I came to you hoping you could ask her for it.”
Contract with the Death god… had Amara bargained with the Sumerian god when she already owed allegiance to him? He’d heard whispers, chose not to believe them. Despite her trickster nature, his Priestess had never given her word lightly.
“No offense Andrus, but the problems of the Gods are of no concern to me. Mortals and deities may not survive an Apocalypse, but Hell will.”
It had been his suggestion to Amara that her warlocks start worshipping the Hells in an even exchange for infernal power, as a result both races had grown stronger for it. As long as warlocks and demons continued to be allies, they could survive without the sins and faith of mortal kind. An Apocalypse would certainly weaken, but not destroy their realms.
Andrus stared at him for a moment. “How can you say such a thing? Do you not know who your mother is? What her family was?” He shook his head then turned back to the fireplace.
Cass let that sink in, shoving it to the back of his mind. His father had said she was no one. Not worthy.
“Perhaps if I bound you to my daughter, it would void the bargain with Gwynn…” Andrus absently murmured.
Cass jumped to his feet, “you would subject your daughter to this.” He gestured around, then to himself with a shaking hand. “I have no need for a consort.”
“Finish what you started sin-eater. I dare you.” Amara hissed from her manacles. “You came to end me? Do it.”
He wasn’t safe for a consort.
“I would do anything to see her free of the Mad King, Cassius. At least you have the pedigree to match my line.”
He snapped out of his thoughts.
“I have nothing.” He growled. “I am demon born and have given my life over to the upkeep of the Hells, this is what you would condemn your daughter to by binding her to me. A life in Hell, with a man who could never love her.”
Andrus nodded. “I’ll take my leave then. I must go see to my son and see if perhaps any of her people know how to break a damned Faery bargain.”
With a nod, Andrus ripped open a portal in the fabric of the very universe, right in the center of Cass’s hearth, then turned back to Cass.
“Your Priestess has traveled to her home in the mortal realm, in case you wanted to find her. We need that Sword, Cassius.” He stepped through the portal and disappeared.
That urgency he felt before to see her took on a desperate note. If Andrus had seen it necessary to lower himself from his godly perch to enter the Nessus in search of him, then Hells only knew who or what would be coming after the priestess in the hopes of claiming that sword.
CHAPTER NINE
the thing about allies
He could count his allies on one hand- trusted allies on one finger. Amara, Queen of Asurim, his Priestess- and only because she had no choice in the matter. To ensure her loyalty he had offered her freedom on the condition she bind herself to him with an unbreakable oath, one preventing her from ever conspiring against him, as he vowed the same.
I vow to stand by your side, as equals, to be your sword, to wield and protect, my unwavering loyalty belongs to you… for as long as you belong to me.
Amara had proved a valuable asset, and for as little as the priestess had wanted to do with him, he actually liked her. He found her sharp tongue and quick wit amusing, her magic beyond valuable, her proximity strangely comforting.
All the worry about her betraying him, and he’d been the one to fail her.
Through her scheming and his charm, they had ensured his father’s deposition, through joined battle they had reclaimed her realm and crown. They’d plundered side by side for more than a century, two greedy and selfish beings bound by contract not to betray one another. It was what they knew.
His chest eased into a normal breathing rhythm when he laid eyes on her. His eyes devoured every inch of her parchment pale skin, her hair was a light shade of violet today, covering her face as she shut her bathroom door behind her. His mouth curled up into a grin- the only thing covering her was a towel.
He’d finally caught the priestess off-guard.
Her eyes were a vibrant shade of cyan blue, they were the first thing he always noticed about her, they gleamed like backlit sapphires. Right now, they were narrowed into daggers and he fought down the little thrill that rose up inside. Because he had the upper hand. He told himself that as he scanned every inch of her for injury, trying to keep an impassive expression on his face.
“How are you in my house?” She hissed out and stepped back closer to the doorway she’d just exited. “WHY are you in my house?” Her hands were clung tight to keep the towel covering her chest.
He straightened his stance, trying to cover up the wince. His bones still throbbed from the poison, even after a night and entire day had passed, the effects lingered, his usual rapid healing no defense against whatever wicked concoction the Priestess had contrived.
An indignant sort of anger started buzzing through his chest. She’d obviously ended up better off than he had, she hadn’t had to deal with the likes of his father. All that worry— and she was well enough to be lounging about in towels in the middle of the day.
She inched toward the open door of her bedroom, and he stepped closer. She smelled like gardenias and tart cherries. Very unlike her normal scent, which left him even more flustered.
He grabbed a bright red apple from the bowl placed upon an antique coffee table and Amara’s arm, steering her away from her attempted retreat and into her inner sanctuary.
“You got the sword?” He didn’t look as she grabbed the loosened towel.
After his nice visit with his father, the thought of owning a weapon with the power of The Divine Sword was more than temptation. It offered finality.
Amara nodded slowly, her glowing eyes narrowing. “I did.”
Music played from some hidden speakers, classical violins, their song soft and melodious, easing the tension that was making his head pound. He slouched into her armchair and threw his feet up onto the table, biting into the apple and taking a fully restorative breath. He felt safe with her, always had.
“So that was quite the ride.” His eyes gleamed. “Honestly glad to see you made it out of that mess.”
Had to play it cool. It wouldn’t do for her to think he had actually been concerned. Never mind to what extent.
“Wouldn’t have gone in without a solid plan.” Her chin notched, the glow fading from her eyes.
“That last dose you sent me was particularly nasty.” He looked over at her from under his lashes. “I think it might have left my brain a little mushy.”
She smirked, finally relaxing with the familiar topic. She’d been dosing him with potions and poisons for the better part of a century, each getting progressively nastier. Nasty and necessary, they offered his contraception and his oblivion, he craved the mindless physical release.
“You used it already?” She spoke with melodious tone as she settled onto the adjacent couch. “Tell me how my poison made you feel,” she purred.
“Like I was burning alive.” His voice was a low rasp. “Like my skin was being flayed from my bones.” He turned to face her. “I bled from my ears.”
She sm
iled brightly. “Naughty demon. You were supposed to document your findings for me. I have yet to best En-Rasputin and his vicious concoctions.”
“So, you made it out alive.” Cass said, looking down at the apple core and debating where to toss it. The room was filled with furniture and shelves of books, fabric draped everywhere, not a trashcan in sight. “I didn’t leave you intentionally. just so you know. My power…” he leaned up and set the apple on the coffee table, waiting for her to tease him about being ridiculous.
“I can feel it oozing off you even now Sin. It’s most delicious.” Her eyelids lowered as she gave him a once-over, “power suits you.” She neatly avoided the topic yet again.
“I need that Sword.” He said, focusing his attention back on her. He could just take it, use it to end his father… he’d give it back to her before considering giving it to any of the gods.
“I need it myself, demon. Thus, all the trouble I went through to get it.”
“We.” Cass said, running his hand down his face, trying to gather his wits. “The trouble we went through.”
She snorted softly. “Was it so troubling to bury yourself balls deep in a few maidens?”
Her voice had a waspish edge and Cass studied her expression. Was she jealous? The reason they worked so well together was because they didn’t see each other as potential conquests. They had a bargain.They’d made an excellent team, nothing more.
Mara cleared her throat and averted her gaze.
“He was there, at the temple. He saw me grab the sword.” She whispered, her bright eyes flitting around the room before meeting his again.
Cass shook his head, his forehead creasing in confusion.
“Namtar.” she whispered so quietly, she was nearly mouthing the word.
He’d seen Mara and the Huntsman together through the years, he knew they were involved. Whispers of her being betrothed to the ancient death god, were simply that, abstract and unproven gossip, he’d never given credence to them.
“What of it, Mara?” He couldn’t stifle the sting of jealousy that hit him in the chest with her admission. She belonged to him, the one thing he had untainted by the Hells he’d been raised in, the one thing untainted by his father’s greed.
Her mouth flattened, and expression closed off.
She would just give him the sword? “Do you think he could even wield it?”
Amara scoffed delicately. “He wouldn’t want to wield it, just wouldn’t want me to.”
She didn’t seem happy about the development. He breathed a tad easier knowing he hadn’t helped her collect the sword as a wedding gift or some shit.
“So, you don’t want... Namtar to have it?” The word ‘betrothed’ had caught in his throat, refusing to come out.
Her eyes came back to his, banked fury shining from their odd-coloured depths, “The only time Namtar will get that sword will be the moment I run him through with it.”
Air re-filled his lungs.
“Do you think it will work against my father?” Cass broke down and asked. If anyone understood the danger his father represented it was Mara, who had been his prisoner.
Mara’s eyes met his, and he thought there was actual sorrow reflected in their depths.
Even as they sat here, he could feel the pull of his father's sigil, draining him. He didn’t even have the energy to explain to her how badly he needed this.
“Perhaps,” she purred and moved forward in her seat, closing the distance between them. “We can come to an agreement.”
Damn. his feet dropped to the floor, then he crossed an ankle over his thigh, trying to hide his growing erection. He wasn’t immune to her charms. Not at all.
In fact, everything about her drew him in, from her hair that was constantly changing color, to the shade of her eyes that couldn’t exist in nature, to the gentle slopes of her curves. Especially with them spilling out of a towel.
He’d distanced himself, did everything he could not to notice. They were already bound by Warlock contract, he didn’t need to be further entwined with any female. He instinctively knew he wouldn’t survive it.
His eyes were cold once more when they met hers.
“You want to make a deal with a demon, love?” He teased, pouring on the charm, something inside him shrinking back when he saw her expression close off once more.
“If the sword holds true to its legend, I’ll only need it for a short time, then I will help you with your father.” She stood, adjusting her towel and wandering into her bedroom, raising her voice so he’d still hear her.
He followed instead, leaning against her doorway.
“This seems like a familiar bargain,” he said, his eyes taking in every naked inch of her flesh.
She turned back around with a gasp, then with a defiant notch of her chin, she brazenly pulled up flimsy lace panties, wiggling to pull them over her ass.
Their bond was made based on a similar deal. He helps her regain her kingdoms, then she helps him. Only, those stipulations had been met, and here they were, still bound.
“I have my own pests to deal with first, sin-eater.”
CHAPTER TEN
oops, did I do that?
At the sound of his stifled groan she turned to discover his dark gaze roaming along her body, a breach in unspoken boundaries. Damn him. Purposefully or not, he was distracting her.
Still, she couldn’t stop her lips from curling into an impish grin when her own gaze lowered to discover that concealed behind the strained leather of his pants, the demon appeared to be sporting a raging cockstand. The discomfort was punishment well met for the crime of intruding upon both her privacy and peace of mind.
True to nature, the self-centered lout had wasted no time in figuring out a way to use her sword to his own advantage.
In truth his demand for it made little difference to her plans, after ridding herself of Namtar, Asmodeus was the very next name on her list of beings who needed to perish by the sword’s blade.
The list was short, only five names, but impressive in content nonetheless for each made a formidable foe. Perhaps once vengeance had been met, the loss she struggled with would finally ease, bringing an end to centuries of grieving.
“I can’t guarantee the sword will work against your father, remember that he was himself once a being of divine justice, a favored son of the heavens. There is no telling if the sword's blade can make distinction between the celestial he once was, and what he has become.”
“A demon…” Cassius remained motionless while she spoke, his expression revealing nothing of his own thoughts on the matter.
With a rough jerk she coaxed the leather of her pants over the humble swell of her ass. “A psychopath...”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, joining the persistent ticking of raindrops against the windows underscored by a soft symphony of music she favored. The setting far too intimate for their current subject of discussion.
She had been working in her gardens, too caught up in caring for the white baneberry to notice the gathering storm until the heavy downpour had unleashed its fury and soaked her through. A warm bath had set her to rights, a lazy afternoon just what she’d needed. She’d not been expecting company, certainly not him.
It threw her off kilter seeing the sin-eater here, within the seclusion of her hide-away home, lounging amongst her personal belongings, looking as if it were the most natural place for him to be. In retrospect she should have known he would come find her here, after all, this is where she had hidden the sword.
The time had come to return home. As much as she had wanted to remain here in the mortal realm a little longer, and enjoy the small sense of independence it offered, she simply couldn’t. Asurim was safe, but the threat of battle not gone. Now that she’d healed, she would need to confront any who sought to avenge the Ghata'n.
Besides, if the sin-eater had discovered her location, it would only be a matter of time before others would follow. The sword could not be risked. She had already been ro
bbed of her chance at happiness, she would not squander her chance at vengeance.
“After we escape, will we be happy in the mortal world?”
“We will finally be together. You’ll be mine. I’ll be yours. Isn’t that the very definition of happiness?”
She eased on a navy velvet bustier, ancient rune symbols embroidered into the fabric. She preferred the freedom of movement her robes provided, and enjoyed the feel of smooth silk against bare skin. Unfortunately, they made her stand out too much amongst the mortals, and drawing their attention never proved a good thing.
A glance into the cheval mirror revealed his gaze on her, before those dark eyes of his came to rest upon the lacing she held between her fingers. Challenge lay within those inky depths, and damn her for being so easily baited, because before her brain had a chance to catch up to her mouth, her own challenge fell from her lips.
“Demon, make yourself useful and come lace me up.”
With a few lazy steps he joined her side. His expression pensive as his fingers brushed along the curve of her hip, turning her away from the mirror slowly until she faced him. The ends of lacing caught between his fingers, while his thumb rubbed along the short length of velvet ribbon.
Without warning he pulled tight, the bindings of the bustier and the sudden momentum throwing her off balance as he forced her flush against his chest. Hells he was tall, the height difference making it necessary for her to look up to glare at him. Only to find the insufferable demon grinning down at her.
“Have I ever told you that your pride is delectable, priestess?”
She moved in closer, resolute in her resolve not to be cowed, faltering at the growing awareness that her lips were but a few inches separated from his, and he was closing the distance. Was he going to kiss her?
“As is your lust, sin-eater.” The whisper of his hot breath made rational thought impossible, he was going to kiss her. Was she going to let him?
Everything about the demon called to her, she had no resistance against his seduction. Another reason she had placed as much distance between them as possible, the yearning was almost as potent as her grief. It made for a confusing combination.