by Mila Young
Then, his head swings my way, and he says, “I know you’re still hurt by Serena.”
The sound of that traitor’s name lights a fire, and fury engulfs me. “Don’t say her fucking name.”
He holds up his hands in surrender and stands. “Look, I get it. She fucked us all. I know that. But you loved her. You can’t deny it. You were willing to give up everything for her, and she used you and tricked us all. We’re all guilty in some way.”
A growl rumbles in my throat. I’ve been trying for nearly a century to push that bitch out of my mind, but her betrayal still stings. The moment Lucifer revealed she’d been working for him all along, listening to our plans to overthrow him and using the information to help him keep one step ahead of us… If I ever see her again, I’ll… I’ll…
“I know you don’t want to get your heart involved again,” Dorian says, interrupting my vengeful thoughts, “and I don’t blame you. It’s messy shit. But hear me out here. What I’m proposing is for… fun, more or less.”
“Out with it, Dorian.”
“To prevent us all from turning into Cain’s green-eyed brother, Lorcan, and competing with each other, let’s simply play nice and share. If Aria’s on board, of course,” he explains. Still unsure where he’s going with this, I wait for him to go on. He does. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together searching for the relics to get back into Hell, and instead of fighting each other, let’s all just enjoy what Earth has to offer instead. That’s what I’ve been saying all along, isn’t it? Why wallow and squabble? Where’s the fun in that?”
I think about what he’s proposing. Aria can be with whoever she wants—no strings, no commitments, no jealousy or rivalry—and we just enjoy the ride. Sounds picture-perfect in theory, but sharing a mate with another man, let alone two, goes against all my baser instincts. I don’t know about incubuses or the original seven demons, but shifters, specifically hellhounds, choose one mate for eternity. It’s near impossible not to see any other male as competition or a threat.
But then again, this isn’t for a life-long commitment, as Dorian says. This is just fucking around. Aria obviously wants us all, so why not take advantage of our contract with her and let loose? Like we used to in Hell. Before Serena mucked things up for us.
Remembering Cain and how possessive he was over Aria when he saw me through the window as he was fucking her in his office, the notion of this working out quickly deflates. We need all of us to be on board.
“Cain’s not going to like this,” I reply with a shake of my head. “He’ll never agree.”
Dorian’s smirk returns. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“What?”
“Cain and I used to share many a girl back in the good ol’ days. Sometimes at the same time, if you know what I mean.”
There’s no way. Cain? Mr. As-Much-Charisma-as-a-Walking-Statue, Cain? I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.
“You’re shitting me.”
“Oh no. Scout’s honor.” Grin widening, he holds up three fingers like he’s pledging something. “It was before you joined our little group, of course. Cain was quite wild.”
I can’t even imagine Cain as anything other than tight-lipped and proper, the model of what a person would expect Pride incarnate to be.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say and huff a laugh.
Dorian joins in, his head tilting back as laughter bounces through him. “You leave it to me. I’ll talk to him.”
And we all know Dorian has a gift with words. If he were alive, he could be a lawyer... or a used car salesman.
The merriment stops abruptly, and Dorian becomes deathly quiet. With his face turned toward the high ceilings, he squints as if seeing something above us, and his spine straightens.
“What? What is it?” I know an alert pose when I see one. Like when in the woods and a sudden sharp sound captures your attention.
My gaze snaps up, and I see it, too—a smear of black across the skylight’s frosted window. My hackles rise. The hellhound within me snarls as the inky spot moves, growing larger as it spreads what looks like wings…
Wings.
Dorian and I look at each other at the same time, knowing exactly what is spying on us.
“Crow!” we say in unison.
Startled, it squawks and almost slips off the roof. Its talons scrape across the glass, unable to grab on. Frantic, it flaps its wings and swoops lower, appearing in another skylight a second later before picking up a gust of air under its wings and rising out of sight.
Shit!
“Follow that bird!” Dorian commands, as if reading my mind.
Immediately, we’re both off and running for the back doors of the house, tearing off clothes and changing into our demons mid-stride. As my hound, I burst into the frigid, early afternoon air and throw my nose into the wind. On the breeze, the scent of bird mixed with sea salt and gasoline lingers. An odd combination, definitely new.
Gotcha.
Dorian’s right by my side, shirtless, with his horns, pointed ears, and tattoos on full display. “There!” he shouts, pointing one of his sharpened nails to the sky. And sure enough, there the little fucker is, heading east toward a thick patch of trees. He’s going to try and use the canopy for cover.
With our eyes trained on the black speck in the sky, we barrel into the thick brush. This time, there’s no way we’re letting Sir Surchion’s crow get away.
DORIAN
We run for miles with Elias on four legs and me on two. Eyes always trained on the skies and the distant black speck flying ahead of us. Now that we got sight of the collector’s little pet, there’s a good chance it’s going to lead us straight to the very man we need to see.
Or should I say, the dragon.
Elias must have caught on to the creature’s scent, because even when it temporarily disappears in a cluster of clouds or behind the forest’s thick canopy, he’s still hauling ass, snorting and panting like a rabid animal. It’s not long before the crow pops back into view again and we’re closing the distance once more.
The crisp scent of water hits my nose, followed by the strong, toxic smell of gasoline. Soon, the ground underneath our feet turns to asphalt. We’ve reached a city… but not Glenside. We’re closer to the water now. Possibly the next town over. Dawson most likely. Factories, both in use and abandoned, rise on either side of us, and in the distance, black smoke billows from colossal stone pillars. The streets get smaller, causing me and Elias to weave around tight corners, dodging piles of crates and heavy machinery, just to keep up with the crow’s pace.
We pass a billboard with a picture of a cartoon captain character holding a thumbs up and the words ‘Choose Captain Seabox for all your packing and shipping needs!’. Elias makes a sharp left, causing me to skid to a stop and change directions. The saltiness of the air becomes sharper, and I know it’s leading us toward the harbor.
This fucking bird must be smarter than we thought. It’s brought us to a dead end.
“Elias!” I call and slow down. Glancing around, I realize we’ve run straight into a shipment yard with stacks of giant metal cargo boxes that humans use to store and ship items overseas. The name ‘Captain Seabox’ is scrolled across every one.
Oblivious to anything but his baser instincts, Elias rushes ahead, blind and deaf when it comes to the need to chase, hunt, and kill. He’s already on the long strip of dock, heading straight for the end.
Ah, shit.
Let him run straight into an icy water bath and possibly freeze to death? Or save him?
As funny as it may be, I call upon my power, knowing I don’t have much time to catch him. The runes across my chest and shoulders glow blue, and I push against the ground. I’m flying at top speeds, my feet a blur under me, and I reach Elias in no time. As the pesky bird soars further across the water, Elias launches off the pier, realizing too late that there are no more boards beneath him. I snatch him by the scruff of his neck and dig my heels
in, our momentum wanting to lurch us both off the ledge.
Fuck, he’s heavy. It takes all my strength to stop us from falling off the edge and heave us backward. I land hard on my ass, pain jutting up my spine, while Elias rolls sideways before colliding with one of the pilings with a grunt. He quickly sheds his fur, shifts back into his human skin, and shakes his head clear.
“You’re welcome,” I say as I hop to my feet, but Elias ignores me and hurries to the end of the dock, butt-ass naked. Sir Surchoin’s crow caws manically, as if laughing at him, before flying across the rough waters and disappearing.
For a long moment, Elias stands there, muscles stiff, like he’s debating jumping in and chancing the swim.
I grab his shoulder. “Woah, there. Let’s not do anything stupid, now.”
His gaze snaps my way. Every muscle in his body is tight with rage. “He got away,” he says, pushing each word through clenched teeth.
“I know how much this must sting your ego, but let the bird go,” I say, trying to reason with him. “This is where having Cain here would’ve been handy, but neither of us have wings, and if you die, Cain’ll think it was me. I promised him not to off you this time.”
As usual, he doesn’t find my joke funny. But he does spin around and trudge back up the dock, mumbling obscenities the entire way. I don’t blame him. It’s hard to believe a fucking bird with a brain the size of a peanut somehow outsmarted us. Talk about a confidence kicker.
Striding between the rows of metal boxes, a thought strikes me. They aren’t caves, but they’re dark spaces just the same… portable, but a safe place to store a large amount of items… or a dragon’s treasures.
Maybe the collector’s pet didn’t trick us. Maybe I am giving him too much credit. What if he led us exactly to Sir Surchion’s hiding place after all?
I stop on the spot and pat down my pockets in search of my cell phone.
“What are you doing?” Elias asks, annoyed.
When I find it, I yank it out and dial the phone number on the billboard across the way.
“Dorian!”
I wave him off as it rings. “Shhh!”
He throws his hands in the air, exasperated.
When a woman answers “Captain Seabox, how may I help you?” I put on the friendliest voice I can muster and say, “Hello, I have a few storage containers with you guys going out on the next ship. I can’t seem to remember the date of departure or arrival?”
“Name?” the woman asks.
Here goes nothing.
“Surchion.”
Some clicks of a keyboard as she looks up the information on her side. Seconds pass.
“Your twenty containers will be on the next cargo ship,” she says finally. “Docks Wednesday and departs Friday. Arrival will be Le Havre, France in thirty days.”
Jackpot.
He’s trying to flee but wants to bring all his stuff with him.
That means one of these boxes has our relics in it. But which one? “And do you happen to know the numbers of my containers, by any chance? I’m a bit absentminded nowadays.”
“Absolutely. Can you tell me your security password, please?”
Shit. Of course it couldn’t have been that easy.
“Uh, I’ll have to find where I wrote it down and call you back,” I lie. “Thank you, dear.”
I hang up the phone to find Elias staring at me blankly.
“What the heck was that all about?” he asks, brow creased.
Grinning broadly, I walk over to the closest storage container and rap my fist on the metal. The bang echoes loudly. “Elias, my boy. I believe we just found the dragon’s lair.”
It takes him a minute, but I can see the gears turning as he puts the clues together. When he reaches the end, he says, “There has to be hundreds of these containers. We can’t search every one. That’ll take weeks. Months.”
He’s right. But what he hasn’t realized yet is that there’s no need to search them all. Not when we have a relic-detector living in our house.
“We need Aria.”
ARIA
The Milo Swamps aren’t exactly a skip and a jump away from civilization. More like a Jeep ride through the hills and mud and an airboat trek later. The place smells like sewage and rotting eggs, and the water is green and more like slush than liquid. How anything can live here is beyond me, but Cain assures me there are poisonous snakes, spiders, and other things that bite if I don’t stay close to him. But even a prince of Hell can’t protect me from mosquitoes, and they’re the ones tearing me up right now.
Did I mention it’s somehow ungodly hot here, despite it being so close to winter? Oh, and the smell is strong enough to make my eyes water?
I definitely won’t be looking for any vacation rentals anytime soon.
Once we reach an area surrounded by skinny trees with tall, octopus-like roots standing out of the water, our guide slows the airboat so it glides over the water, making little noise. It’s much darker in this part of the Milo Swamps, since the sun is blocked by the strange water-forest’s twisted canopy. Barely any light shines through at all, and the guide is forced to turn on a spotlight and more lanterns around the boat.
Cain is as still as stone beside me, rigid with anticipation. He’s ditched his suit jacket and has his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Sweat makes the fabric stick to him.
“How much longer?” he asks, his tone tinged with frustration.
The guide, an older man wearing rubber pants and a wide-brimmed hat, points into the darkness up ahead. “Nah much farther now,” he says in his thick southern accent.
Despite the wide range of creatures singing their songs, the place is pretty quiet. No sounds of men, as far as I can tell. Wasn’t a group of them supposed to be camping out around here? At least that’s what Cain told me. But so far, there’s no sign of anyone but us. Uneasiness snakes up my spine.
I’m not sure I like this.
Cain must be thinking the same thing because he says, “Are you sure we’re going to the exact coordinates I told you?”
The man nods.
“Shouldn’t you have a compass or something? A map?” I add in. Even with those tools, I didn’t know how anybody could navigate in this place. It was like a maze of green slime and sticks. Everything looked the same after a while, and this guy was leading us with nothing but his instincts.
“No ma’am. I’ve lived in these swamps since I was a youngin’. I know it like the back of mah hand.”
I glance at Cain. He looks unsure, too.
“Can you call someone?” I offer as a solution. “See where they are?”
“Won’ get any phone service ‘ere,” the man says with a near-toothless smile. “But yer can try.”
Cain pulls out his cell and checks the screen before shaking his head and confirming the guide is right.
He lets out a wheezy laugh. “Told ya.”
Cain leans in closer to me, and like always, his nearness sends delicious shivers throughout my body. I try my damndest to ignore them.
“Do you feel anything?” he whispers. “Anything from the relic.”
I want to tell him I don’t like being used like this, like some supernatural relic detector. I’d even planned on fighting helping him find the spine after he’d told me I had no choice coming here with him for that very reason, but after what he’d done for me in the hospital, I couldn’t bring myself to resist anymore. Even though it’d been clear he’d been out of his element and uncomfortable, he’d tried to connect with me in some way, and it had meant a lot. I wanted to return the favor.
Maybe that had been his plan all along. I really don’t know and probably never will. But for now, I would help him find the spine. Then, hopefully, I’d find my way out of the demons’ contract and make a clean getaway before they find all the relics and drag me to Hell with them.
That’s my plan so far, and I am sticking to it.
I close my eyes (more for dramatic effect than anything else) and try to feel
any twitchy movements from my pinky toe. Nothing. Completely stiff and normal in my sneakers. Even Sayah is silent inside me, coiled away like usual lately.
I crack one eye open and look Cain’s way. “No, sorry.”
“Not a thing?” he prompts again, as if I must be wrong.
Annoyance pinches. “It’s not like I’m not trying here,” I say. “I feel nothing.”
“We must be in the wrong location,” he snaps and straightens, but the old man guides the boat around a bend, and a few tents and hammocks come into view on a thin strip of land.
“There,” he shouts. “Is that what yer lookin’ for?”
“Yes.” Cain’s on his feet immediately and walking to the edge of the boat. “You can drop us off here.”
Carefully, the man steers us closer to the shore. Cain climbs out first, as graceful as can be, while I stumble across the deck like a newborn giraffe on wobbly legs. Cain snatches my wrist before I can topple overboard and half-hauls me onto solid ground.
“Thanks,” I breathe and smooth down the front of my shirt. My shoes sink into the spongy moss, and I wipe the sticky sweat from my forehead. Gross.
“And you weren’t even in heels this time.”
I snort a laugh, but despite his attempt at a joke, Cain’s expression is deadly serious. His focus is clearly on something else—the spine relic. His gaze is already sweeping the campsite, but as it first appeared, the place seems to be abandoned. There’s no movement from the tents. Only ash sits in a firepit, the fire long since extinguished, and various gadgets and high-tech location equipment have been just tossed to the side, as if someone had to drop it all and make a quick run for it. There has to be at least two million dollars’ worth of devices here.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, my nerves coming back with a vengeance. I don’t like this one bit. Even without Sayah, I know warning signs when I see them.
“Freeman and his men should be here,” Cain mumbles mostly to himself as he strides across the campsite and kicks one of the tents. As expected, no one’s inside to protest or come out.