Chapter 64
SIXTY-FOUR
Before we meet with my father, we stop at Velora’s tower—a spire of midnight vines and wind chimes made from bones too delicate to be human. She waits in her garden, barefoot, wearing a crown of curling silver thorns. Her eyes shimmer—half-feral, too knowing.
“The prodigal prince returns,” she drawls, tilting her head as we approach.
“Just visiting,” I say, folding my arms. “Any chance you know where my father is?”
Velora hums, brushing a hand over a blossom that opens with a shiver. “Last I heard, he was back at the Crown. Sulking. Playing at thrones and grudges.”
“Good,” I mutter.
As I turn to go, her voice stops me.
“Deimos.”
I glance back.
“You owe me.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I say. “I’m just… preoccupied with finding my mate.”
Her smile softens, just a little. “Then go. Find her. But when she’s safe—when the ash clears—I’ll want to collect.”
I nod once. Then we vanish into the heat. The scent of brimstone hits before we even see the palace.
Velora calls it The Crown Below—a mockery of the celestial halls it once tried to rival.
Where heaven builds cathedrals from starlight and glass, this place drips obsidian and bone.
The spires pierce the underbelly of Hell’s sky like black fangs, and the heat rolls in thick waves, humming with the kind of magic that remembers how to bleed.
We land just outside the outer gates, the three of us cloaked in travel dust and tension. Cassiel holds a steady pace behind me, silent but sharp-eyed. Bastion stays close on my left, jaw tight.
The gates are flanked by pyre statues—living flames shaped like knights. They never move, but they always watch. As we pass, they flare brighter, like they know I don’t belong here anymore.
Bastion grimaces. “You’d think they’d update the decor.”
I grunt. “My father isn’t much for change.”
Just as we cross into the outer court, a voice slices through the haze behind us.
“Well, well. Look what the pit dragged in.”
I stop. Close my eyes. Count to three. Then turn.
Thorne.
A tall figure strolls forward, pale hair bound in silver rings, horns lacquered obsidian. Born of shadow and spite, Thorne is my half-brother in blood only. He thrives in ruin and watches from the cracks. And he never forgets a grudge.
“Didn’t think we’d see you back in Hell so soon,” he says with a grin, wings flicking open lazily. “Come to fetch your broken little succubus?”
My hands fist at my sides. Cassiel steps forward, but I stop him with a glance.
“I’m not here for you.”
“Pity. I had bets going. Thought you’d be sulking in the Wastes for another century.” His grin widens as he eyes Bastion, then Cassiel. “But look at you. You brought backup. How sweet.”
Before I can answer, another voice cuts in—cool, sharper, but not dripping venom like his.
“Thorne, enough.”
A woman emerges from the shadow of the colonnade. She’s leaner than him, her horns swept back and polished to silver sheen. Her hair falls like ink, her eyes a pale, luminous violet that miss nothing. Her armor is etched in sigils that smolder faintly in the heat.
“Serenya,” I mutter, exhaling. My older half-sister. My father’s eldest daughter.
Unlike Thorne, she doesn’t grin. She studies me with something colder, steadier—a quiet recognition that isn’t approval, but isn’t mockery either.
A second shadow moves behind her, tall but quieter. Her mate. He keeps a respectful distance, his posture a study in restraint. His eyes never leave her, not out of fear, but reverence. It’s obvious who holds the leash between them.
“Deimos,” she says simply. “Didn’t think you’d come back willingly.”
“Didn’t plan to,” I answer.
Thorne scoffs. “You always were dramatic.”
Serenya cuts him a look sharp enough to silence him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to lurk?”
He bares his teeth at her, but after a beat, he fades into shadow, muttering curses as he goes.
Her gaze returns to me. “If you’re going in, be careful. He’s been… restless.”
Restless. That’s her way of saying dangerous. Unstable. My father in his current state is like a fire that doesn’t burn clean—only smoke and poison.
I nod once. “I’m not here to pick a fight.”
Her lips twitch faintly. Not a smile, not quite. “That would be new.”
She doesn’t try to stop us. She just steps aside with her mate, letting us pass into the heat.
The air thickens the closer we get—charged with memory, with the kind of old magic that sticks to your lungs. The obsidian walls pulse with infernal sigils, casting flickers of molten light across our skin.
We’re almost to the doors. And then Cassiel drops.
No warning. No cry. Just a sudden, jarring collapse to his knees.
“Cass!” I lunge, but Bastion’s already reaching for him, gripping his shoulder like he might hold him together through force of will.
Cassiel shakes his head, teeth clenched, a shudder ripping down his spine. “It’s fine. I’m fine. She’s just…”
His breath catches. His whole body tenses. And then… he moans. Not in pain. Not entirely. It’s strained, guttural, and far too close to pleasure.
Bastion reels back slightly, blinking like he just got slapped with a lust spell. “What the fuck was that?”
Cassiel gasps, voice hoarse. “She’s… feeding off me.”
Silence.
“She can do that?” Bastion blurts, looking at me like I might have an answer.
I shrug. “Apparently so.” Then I grin. I can’t not grin. “Terrible timing, though. Remind me to scold her about that later.”
Cassiel groans again, softer now. Steadier. He’s grounding himself, breathing through it.
“I can feel her pulling through the bond,” he mutters. “She’s starving. I—fuck—I’ll need to strengthen the link. Mask it better next time. Or she’s going to give me a damn aneurysm.”
“You think she meant to?” Bastion asks.
Cassiel lets out a breathy laugh as he pushes to his feet. “No. She’s just… desperate. Hungry. But connected.”
There’s something in his eyes now. Relief. Hope. Fire.
“She’s still with us.”
I nod. The grin fades, replaced by steel. “Good. Then let’s get through this meeting with the fucking King of Hell so we can make a plan.”
I glance toward the towering door carved in cracked celestial script—scars from an old war no one dares speak of anymore.
“And next time she feeds off one of us?” I add, deadpan. “Let’s aim for not doing it outside my father’s goddamn throne room.”
Cassiel exhales and brushes the dust from his knees.
The door looms ahead, tall and waiting.
“You ready for this?” I ask.
He nods once. “Are you?”
I don’t answer. I left this place to become something else. Something more.
But now I’ve come back—not as an heir. Not as a soldier.
As a mate. And I’ll burn down every throne in Hell if that’s what it takes.
I press my palm to the door. It opens.