Chapter 15 #2
Aisha stepped forward, her voice screeching with rage. “The ring. Give it to me!” Her hand stretched out, clawing at what she believed was hers by right.
But another familiar voice whispered, low and molten, inside Síofra’s marrow. Ashmedai. Yes… give it to her. Take it off. Trust me.
For the first time since the age of eleven, Síofra slipped the ring off her finger. It came off with ease, leaving a pale mark where it had rested.
In that moment, cracks spidered through the stones, glowing red, and the circle rippled. Smoke surged up, burning, searing.
Ashmedai rose, no longer veiled within Morgan.
Seven feet tall, horns wreathed in ember-glow, skin black velvet beneath the firelight. His eyes flared-ancient, merciless, bright with victory.
On the threshold he stood, free at last.
As she watched,Ashmedai pulled something from a cloth bag tied around his waist. In their mind, Morgan and Síofra heard him scream close your eyes as he lifted Stheno’s lock for all to see.
“You wanted the king of demons,” Ashmedai growled, voice layered with a thousand echoes. “Here I am.”
Wind screamed as the coven froze. One by one, they turned to stone, their screams ripped away. In a puff of smoke, the Stheno’s lock disintegrated, leaving silence.
He struck a clean blow and Alia’s stone head rolled, her body collapsing into dust. Ashmedai caught the severed head, lips curling. “You should have stayed pretty, little priestess.” With a flick, he punted it into the sea below.
Centuries of knowledge passed into Síofra in those minutes after she had taken the ring off. It felt like a veil was lifted revealing her true self.
She raised her hands, and the air within the circle ripped open. A portal yawned, black and howling, a nightmare world on the other side. Large pools of black glistened on the other side while sinuous forms swam just beneath the surface. Ashmedai looked at her, reverent. “Mistress of Portals.”
The sword still burned in his hand as he turned within the circle.
It was then he looked at Morgan, still crouched in his wolf form, blood staining his muzzle. Ashmedai’s voice dropped, heavy with a truth he could no longer avoid.
“Yes,” he admitted. “My plan was to take your wolf, descend into the Undercroft with my mate and leave you human without your wolf. Without your mate. That was the price of my freedom. That was what the sword was for.”
Morgan’s hackles rose, a growl deep in his chest.
“But.” Ashmedai’s gaze flicked between them, something almost tender in his tone. “You fought for me when you could have abandoned me. You gave me your strength when mine faltered. For that… I owe you a debt. And I have changed my mind.”
He lowered the sword, its flames dying. “In the Undercroft, I can separate from you. We can be two beings. Here you remain my host. There is no other way for me to exist in this realm. But your wolf will stay yours. We can have a covenant of blood to seal the promise. ”
His golden eyes lingered on Síofra. “The choice is yours, flame-haired queen. Step into the circle with me, and claim what was always meant to be.”
He placed Freyr’s sword in the circle of stones next to the portal to the demon’s realm, turning to her. “Now. Join me.”
Her chin lifted. “Half,” she bargained. “Half in the human world, half in yours. That is the deal.”
Ash studied her, molten eyes calculating. Then he inclined his head. “Agreed. Morgan?”
“I guess I can put up with your ugly arse a while longer. Besides you owe me big time,”drawled Morgan.
Smoke coiled as Síofra opened a wound into her palms. He mirrored her, claw against skin. Then Morgan did the same. They pressed their hands together. The circle flared, the gateway ripping wider.
Then all three were pulled through.
The world split with a wrench of power, and the three of them stumbled onto blackened earth.
Ashmedai’s true form unfurled in a rush of smoke and fire.
He grew taller, broader- more than seven feet of shadow and embers.
Horns spiraled high, glowing faintly as though molten coals had been trapped beneath the ridges.
His skin was black, smooth as velvet, and heat rolled from him in waves.
He reached back and pulled Síofra toward him while Morgan brought up the rear, his wolf simmering just beneath his skin.
Before them, the towering gates of the fortress loomed, black iron etched with runes that pulsed faintly at Ashmedai’s return. The night watch spotted them first, a cry went up, horns sounding, and torches flared along the battlements.
The gates shuddered as they were hauled open.
A surging crowd of males and females of various sizes and colours surged forward .
From the crowd emerged the tall, green-eyed general Síofra had glimpsed once before in vision.
He was broad-shouldered, his armor scorched from countless battles, his presence commanding even as he dropped to his knees.
“Alsiel”, Ashmedia grunted as he moved forward to greet him.
Alsiel’s forehead touched the earth, his voice thick with reverence. “My king.”
Ashmedai, now clad in blood-red robes that had materialised from thin air ,seemed woven from fire itself, lowered his hand to Alsiel’s head. “Rise.”
The general lifted his face, eyes shining, and kissed the hem of Ashmedai’s robes before standing. He pulled him into a fierce embrace, the kind of clasp brothers might share after centuries apart.
“This is my friend and my right hand,” Ashmedai murmured, his voice softened in rare affection.
Alsiel’s gaze flicked to Síofra, still trembling with the power that lingered in her blood. His eyes widened. “The Mistress of Portals,” he breathed.
Ashmedai’s arm tightened around her waist. “Síofra and my queen.”
Wherever her bare feet touched the ground, green shoots unfurled, curling up through the cracked black earth. Grass spread in her wake, flowers daring to bloom in a realm that had forgotten such things.
Alsiel fell to one knee again, awe breaking across his face. “It is true,” he whispered. “She is the goddess of the Green.”
The gates swung wide, and they were ushered into the Undercroft.They were led up to a massive bedroom where demon bearers brought a claw-footed tub and hot water to bathe.
Later torches blazed, tables groaning beneath feasts of roasted meats, spiced wines, and fruits Síofra had never seen before.
Demons cheered until the cavernous hall shook.
Ashmedai stood tall, his robe a living flame, his horns casting light across the crowd. He introduced Morgan with an uncharacteristic gravity. “This wolf is my vessel, my comrade. I owe him my life. You will treat him with honour.”
There was murmuring, but none dared contest the king’s word.
Later, when the feasting was done and the moons-two of them, one pale and one blood-red-hung high in the night sky, they retired to chambers carved from obsidian.
Síofra fell asleep quickly, exhausted and sated after they had both taken their turns with her, her breaths soft against the silken bedding.
Ashmedai stood at the window, firelight flickering across his horns, while Morgan leaned against the wall.
“She is ours,” Ashmedai said quietly. “We must protect her.”
Morgan’s jaw tightened. “Always.”
For once, there was no mockery between them-only a shared oath.
**