by Sarah Piper
I sensed Jael felt the same way.
Elena returned from the living room, pulling on her jacket and gloves. “That was Lansky. We just got a hit on Norah Hanson’s credit card.”
“What does that mean?” Jael asked, reaching for another cookie.
“It means you’d better get a doggy bag, Prince.” I grabbed the plate out from under his hand and rose from the table. “We’ve got a rogue witch to track down.”
Ten
Gray
It felt like someone had pulled the plug on my soul, and now I was being sucked down into oblivion, crushed by the weight of too much gravity as I spun and swirled and vanished down some ancient cosmic drain.
But just when I feared my bones would be pulverized, the spinning stopped, and I was breathing again, gulping down the precious air I’d been deprived of. I was alive.
And I was back on the material plane.
When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself resting on cloud-fluffy bedding, gazing up at a pristine white ceiling fitted with a stainless-steel fan that gently stirred the air. I’d been bathed and dressed in soft stretch pants and a loose gray hoodie that smelled like… like Ronan.
Like home.
God, how I wanted to close my eyes and sink back into that dream—the one where none of this was real. Where my rebels and I had never left the safe house, and instead spent our days cooking meals together and drinking good wine and playing Scrabble and making love. So much hot, passionate, incredible, amazing love in a bed big enough for the whole pack.
My core ached to think of it.
But despite the softness of his sweatshirt and the luxurious sheets beneath me, this was no dream. I’d just been betrayed by someone I trusted and evicted from hell, only to end up in a fancy hotel room I could never afford even if I hadn’t lost my job at Waldrich’s Imports.
Everything about Blackmoon Bay, about my old life, felt like it belonged to someone else.
And now, so did I.
I let out a tired sigh. The Prince of Hell would be expecting me soon, if he wasn’t already. This hotel was probably his property.
Just like me.
Welcome to the first day of the end of your life, Gray Desario.
I waited another beat for the tingling in my arms and legs to subside, then sat up slowly, leaning back against a sleek ebony headboard. The room spun again, and when it finally righted, something else came into sharp focus.
The sight of him stole my breath all over again.
“Ronan,” I gasped.
He stood at the foot of the bed in dark jeans and a black v-neck tee that clung to his muscles, a dark shadow of a beard lining his jaw, his hair practically begging for me to run my fingers through it. I wanted to touch him. To feel his hands and mouth on me.
But something was… different. His face had been bruised, with new, pink scars cutting across his jaw. His rigid, unmoving form was flanked by two terrifying canine beasts I recognized from our previous run-ins. There was no mistaking the matted, coal-black fur, the razor-sharp teeth, the glowing red eyes.
Hellhounds.
Despite the frightening and unexpected appearance of the hounds, a surge of gratitude swept over me. Ronan was here. Alive. He’d made it through the hell portal, and I’d made it back to him, and even if we only had one minute to say our goodbyes, I’d take it.
I couldn’t help but smile.
“Ronan,” I said, finding my full voice. “It’s damn good to see you.”
But Ronan wasn’t smiling at me in return, or moving to capture me in a passionate kiss, or reaching for his phone to call Emilio and let him know I was okay. He was just standing there, still as a statue, his eyes blazing with fury while the hounds growled menacingly at his sides.
Ronan waited a beat. Two. Three. Made sure I’d finally seen the anger flashing in his eyes. Then, those beautiful hazel eyes that used to look at me as though I were the only person in the universe that mattered, turned demon black.
“Ronan?” Was this another trick? Maybe I hadn’t made it out at all. Maybe I’d only found my way into another chamber in hell, full of fresh torments and hallucinations.
“Gray Desario,” Ronan announced, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought he’d shatter his teeth, “your contract has been called.”
His tone was stiff and formal, every one of those words pushed through lips that didn’t want to yield.
But they did yield.
“I’m here in my official capacity as Guardian at the Crossroads to inform you of your eternal imprisonment and to escort you to your…” He paused, swallowing hard, stumbling. “To your master. Do not attempt to renegotiate. The terms of your contract are binding in accordance with the laws of the Crossroads and upheld by all the courts of the realms.”
Ronan rattled off a bunch of rules and regulations, each one clearly regurgitated from memory. The ice in his voice reached into my heart, freezing me all the way down to the bone.
I wondered how many times he’d had to do this before. How many times he’d have to do it again once I was “escorted” into Sebastian’s possession and no longer Ronan’s responsibility. He was, after all, a crossroads demon, oathbound to serve at his master’s pleasure.
From the sound of it, it was only a matter of seconds before that master was the very last thing Ronan and I would ever share.
“Stop!” I shouted, climbing out of the bed and rushing over to Ronan.
“Oh, but I can’t,” he said sardonically. “This is my job. You always wanted to know where I disappeared to all those times. What I did. Now you get an up-close-and-personal view.”
“Don’t do this,” I whispered. “Just… wait. Five minutes.”
He clamped his mouth shut, and I reached for his face, running my fingers along his jaw. A shiver rolled through him, but before he fully leaned into my touch, he reached up and grabbed my wrist, yanking my hand away.
“Don’t,” he said. Cold. Dead.
Fear and confusion flooded my heart. This was how he wanted to say goodbye?
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
Ronan took a breath, but before he could answer my question, the skin on my wrist—all the places where his fingers touched—began to smolder.
He released me as if I had the plague, his lip curling in disgust.
“Stay away from me, Gray.” He held his hands up in front of him, slowly backing away. The hounds followed his every move, never leaving his side.
When I reached for his face again, they snapped at me in warning.
So that’s how it’s going to be.
“Let me guess,” I said, pulling away and rubbing the heat from my wrist. “This new little trick of yours is courtesy of Sebastian, Prince of Hell, He Who Thinks He Owns Me?”
“It’s not a trick, Gray. It’s a price.” Ronan sighed, finally dropping the stiff formalities. “He does own you. I’ve been fighting with him for a decade, looking for some technicality that could get you out of this mess, all for nothing. The only thing that kept you safe was the fact that you fucking stayed alive. But now?”
“Newsflash, Ronan. I’m still alive.” I waved my hand in his face, displaying the red, angry welts quickly rising on my wrist. “Case in point.”
“Colebrook was supposed to bring you back unharmed. Did he say anything about this?”
I took a steadying breath, trying to gather my thoughts. I didn’t want to rehash the whole Death mantle thing right now, or give Ronan a reason to hate Liam. Despite my own anger toward him, I couldn’t rule out the possibility of a future reconciliation. I already missed him so much—the flannel, the sun-kissed hair, the annoyingly philosophical conversations, the stupidly kissable lips. The whole situation was impossible, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth fighting for.
And Liam owed me a fight. That was for sure.
As much as I wanted to deny it, Liam—Death—was a part of me, stitched into the fabric of my soul. I couldn’t imagine my world without him.
“Liam and I came to an agreement with Sebastian,” I said, glossing over the details. “The only way to get my soul out of hell and back into my body was to fake out the universe. We had to trick the natural order into believing I’m dead. Unfortunately, that means—”
“It means you’re dead,” he said with a defeated sigh. “At least as far as the contract goes. That son of a bitch!”
Ronan looked like he wanted to pulverize something. Or someone. I was grateful Liam wasn’t here.
“It was the only way,” I repeated. “I never would’ve agreed to it otherwise.”
Ronan didn’t argue the point. He bowed his head, shaking it slowly. “I never should’ve brought you through the hell portal. We wouldn’t be in this mess if I’d found another way.”
“We wouldn’t be anywhere. We’d be dead, or zombies with no memories. We wouldn’t even remember each other, Ronan.” I took a chance and stepped close to him again, ignoring the protests of the hounds. Ronan’s eyes locked on mine, his lips pressed tight together, the muscles of his jaw flexing.
I brushed my fingertips along his jawline. They came away singed, leaving a trail of charred hair in his beard.
I wasn’t allowed to touch the man I loved. Sebastian’s cruelty was truly limitless.
Swallowing the knot in my throat, I said, “What happened after we got through the portal? Where is Darius? Is he… does he remember anything?”
Ronan met me with dead eyes. No longer black, but no longer warm and familiar, either. It was as if he was shutting down.
“He’s in rough shape. He attacked a demon—the bloodlust is hitting him hard. And… no, Gray. He doesn’t remember anything.”
Tears blurred my vision. “Where is he?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“I need to see him, Ronan. You owe me that much.”
“Gray, Sebastian—”
“Sebastian can wait.”
“Try telling him that.”
“He owns me for eternity. Another hour won’t make a difference.”
Ronan didn’t respond.
“What about Emilio?” I asked. “Is he still with his sister? Have they found Asher?”
“Sebastian hasn’t let me get in touch with him yet.” He shoved a hand through his hair, the sudden movement making the hounds jump. “All of this happened so fast… I barely had time to think from the moment those memory eaters attacked.”
“I need to see Darius. Please, Ronan. He needs to know he’s not alone in this.”
“It doesn’t matter, Gray. Don’t you see?” He turned away from me, his body stiffening again. “I was summoned here. This is it. Game over. Don’t even bother packing your shit, because everything you own belongs to him now. You belong to him now.”
“I know.”
When he turned to face me again, his eyes were rimmed in red, flooded with pain and regret.
My insides twisted into a pretzel. It was one thing to make the decision with Liam, floating on a hell boat with no other escape route in sight.
But this was really happening now. I was about to become Sebastian’s eternal slave.
“It’s time, Gray,” he whispered. He held my gaze for another heartbeat, letting me see the real Ronan one last time.
“I love you,” I whispered back.
A tear spilled down his cheek. Just one. In his eyes I saw the immensity of his love for me, his devotion.
Then he turned away, the hounds close at his heels, all of them expecting me to do the one thing I thought I never would.
Follow them back into hell.
Eleven
Gray
We walked briskly down a long, carpeted corridor decorated with garish orange-and-gold walls and a ridiculous number of chandeliers. Ronan stayed a few steps ahead of me no matter how hard I tried to match his pace, his angry footfalls audible even with the carpeting. The hellhounds trailed on my heels—Sebastian’s insurance policy that I wouldn’t bolt the first chance I got.
It was almost laughable. Where would I go? How could a demon sworn witch on a death march back to hell via some chintzy, overdone Vegas hotel possibly escape?
You must seek your own sword…
The voices from my vision on the hell boat floated through my mind, but at the moment, I had no idea what to do with that bit of advice. My own sword? From the sound of things, I’d be lucky if Sebastian even let me use a nail file again.
Better for him to keep me away from sharp objects. First chance I got, I’d be jamming something into his jugular, weather he was an immortal demon or not.
The corridor continued on forever, twisting and turning, taking us past doors that remained shut and walls that revealed nothing about my destination. After what felt like hours, we finally reached a large oak door that looked different from the rest, carved with strange symbols that glowed faintly at our approach.
Demon codes. Hell glyphs. Runes. I couldn’t decipher any of them.
Ronan pressed his palm to the door, and the symbols pulsed brighter, rearranging into a different pattern. He turned to look at me over his shoulder and met my gaze, our noses nearly bumping, the warmth of his breath brushing my lips.
“Whatever you do,” he whispered, “whatever you say, do not anger him. Sebastian is prone to melodrama and overreacting, and no matter what you might think, he always has the upper hand. Remember that.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe there’s a bargaining chip we haven’t—”
“There isn’t, Gray. As long as you stand to lose something, he’ll find it and exploit the hell out of it. There’s nothing you can do here but listen and obey.”
Obey. The word sent a shiver down my spine even as it filled me with indignation. I’d known what I was signing up for—at least, as far as committing myself to Sebastian before my time—but at the time I was more concerned with getting out of hell. Sometimes, you just had to deal with one shiststorm at a time.
But now the next storm was upon me, and I had to figure out my game plan—preferably before I was put in irons or sent into the fiery dungeons.
Because no matter what the contract said, no matter what the laws and order of the crossroads and hell and the Shadowrealm and everywhere else maintained, I was no one’s prisoner.
The runes faded back to a faint glow, and the door swung open, the force of whatever was on the other side beckoning me to enter. The room was small, and as dark and cold as a refrigerator. I’d barely gotten a glimpse of it when the big door slammed shut behind me, the sound of it making my heart rattle.
There were no windows, and every corner was hidden in shadow. I could just make out a long table at the center of the room, with two figures seated in high-backed chairs at one end. The only light came from a thick black candle flickering at the center of the table.
“Gray Desario,” a slimy voice called forth from the shadows. I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I knew immediately who the voice belonged to. Ronan had always said Sebastian sounded like Colonel Sanders peddling used cars. “We’ve been waiting a long time for your arrival.”
He leaned forward, his face illuminated by the candle. Instinctively I took a step back, reaching behind me for the familiar solidity of Ronan, but I was suddenly immobilized. I no longer had control of my body—it lurched forward, then marched itself forward to the table.
“Is that really necessary?” Ronan asked.
“Remember your place, boy,” Sebastian barked.
Inside, my magic stirred, bringing my blood from a simmer to a boil. But outside, I was a prisoner in my own body, unable to move. Unable to blink. Unable to breathe. It was a wonder my heart was still beating. I was pretty sure Sebastian could’ve stopped that, too.
I’d never felt so utterly powerless. Not even when Travis had me pinned in the alley, or Jonathan had taken me prisoner. Not when Norah put a hold spell on me. Not even when I’d been trapped in the cellar watching my mother burn.
He’d wanted me to feel that way. To know the score here.
Just when I thought I’d explode from the fear, Sebastian’s invisible bonds released me. I gasped, sucking in air, stumbling to the nearest chair and collapsing in it.
Ronan stood at my back, the hounds taking their places at my sides. Though he hadn’t said another word since Sebastian’s reprimand, I could feel the anger rolling off him, the ferocity of his love for me warming the air around me. I clung to it—the one good thing still standing in this place, no matter what curse Sebastian had put on us.
“Now that we all understand each other…” Sebastian drawled. “Gray. How are you feeling after you’re long journey?”
You are going to die a slow, painful, horrific death. I will carve you into pieces. Set the pieces on fire. And eat the ashes of your bones.
Out loud, I said nothing.
“It’s natural to be a little nervous your first time, Miss Desario. But you have nothing to fear from me. As long as you behave yourself, I think you and I will get along like butter on grits.”
The figure on his left shifted, and I caught a brief glimpse of a face. A woman’s face, I was pretty sure. She had short white hair and light eyes. Blue, I thought. Like mine.
Did Sebastian have a wife? A willing wife?
“Do you know why I’ve worked so hard to bring you into the fold?” he asked, stealing my attention from the woman.
Again, I said nothing.
“Speak plainly, girl,” he said. “No use standing on ceremony.”
“It’s okay, child,” the woman said. She sounded old. Sweet, almost. I immediately relaxed, though I couldn’t tell if it was because I actually felt better, or if she’d spelled me. “Answer his questions. You’re safe in my presence.”
Sure I am. But even as I had the thought, some part of me believed her.