Chapter 78
SEVENTY-EIGHT
The maids don’t speak as they lead me from my room. I don’t ask them to.
My feet are bare on the cold obsidian floors, my body wrapped in crimson silk that clings like blood. My hair is twisted into a regal crown of thorns, silver pins biting into my scalp. A symbol, maybe. Or a warning.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to belong to him.
My stomach churns as the throne room doors loom ahead. My fists clench, nails carving crescents into my palms. I don’t know where my mates are. I don’t even know if they’re alive.
The doors open. And then I see them.
Deimos. Cassiel. Bastion.
Seated in the front like sacrificial offerings dressed as guests. And Zepharion—waiting at the altar, smug and radiant in robes of bone and fire. He takes my hand with performative flourish.
But I don’t see him. Don’t hear his words dripping like oil.
I see them. Only them.
My heart slams. My knees nearly buckle.
“Stay calm.” The voice whispers through the bond—Cassiel, steady as stone.
My gaze flickers to him.
“We’re here for you,” he says. “But you have to stay calm. Don’t give him any reason to suspect.”
“I’m scared,” I whisper back, though I don’t know if it’s aloud. “I don’t want to be bound to him.”
“You won’t be,” he answers instantly. “I promise.”
I breathe. Once. Twice. Zepharion lifts both my hands in his, and the world splits.
The throne room vanishes.
Shadow swallows everything. The air smells of rain and old power. Cold that slides beneath the skin, settling into bone.
And then—someone appears.
Tall. Broad. Beautiful in a way that feels like cruelty dressed in flesh. His hair falls long and black, streaked with silver. Power rolls off him in waves, filling the air like smoke until I can taste it.
He moves toward me like a predator already sure of its kill.
I step back, palms damp. “Who are you? What is this? What do you want?”
He chuckles low, amused. Stops in front of me. Fingers tip my chin upward. The touch is deceptively gentle, but it feels like the press of a blade against my throat.
“I’m Raziel Tenebris,” he murmurs. Velvet voice with razor edges.
“Tenebris…” The name feels old and wrong in my mouth.
He grins. “Means darkness. Subtle, right? Our father isn’t known for his optimism.”
“Our father?”
“I’m Deimos’s brother,” he says, arms spreading theatrically.
“Brother?”
He tilts his head. “He hasn’t mentioned me? Typical.”
“The only brothers I know of are Cassiel and Bastion. Who is your father?”
Raziel only smirks. “I think I’ll let my baby brother spill the family secrets.”
My pulse quickens. “Then what do you want?”
“I’m here to help you, little one.”
“How?”
He studies me, eyes blackening until they’re nearly voids. My breath catches under his gaze. It isn’t fear. It’s something older. Commanding.
Finally, he sighs. Fingers drop from my chin. “You’ve got a nasty little leash on you.”
My hand flies to my throat. “The necklace.”
“Pretty, isn’t it?” His smile is sharp. “Pretty things always cut the deepest. Let’s fix that.”
A flick of his wrist. Subtle, effortless. The choker doesn’t vanish, but it changes. The burn dies to a throb. The throb to nothing. Cold now, like dead bone.
The fog lifts. And then—power.
It slams back into me like a tide, roaring and endless. My knees buckle, breath tearing from my lungs as my magic floods my veins. For the first time in weeks, I feel whole. Alive. Dangerous.
And gods—hungry. So hungry.
The taste of him is in the air. Power. Smoke. Sin. My magic stretches toward it instinctively, a thread of hunger weaving into him before I can stop it.
His breath hitches. My lips part. I feel him. The pleasure. His restraint bending under the pull.
I gasp, staggering, drunk on it. “I have to,” I whisper, desperate, raw. “I’m starving.”
Raziel’s smile falters. His eyes flash once—and then a wall slams down. Solid. Impenetrable. My power collides with it and dies, leaving me empty, shaking.
His voice is velvet, but sharp enough to cut. “Not me, little succubus. Feed off your mates. Not me.”
I reel back, chest heaving. The hunger gnaws, furious at being denied.
Raz runs a hand through his long hair, mask slipping back into amusement, though I hear the steel beneath it. “You’ll thank me later. I’m not your meal. I’m your weapon.”
The ache in me throbs. I swallow it down, forcing words past it. “Then tell me how. How do I stop him? I don’t know what I’m doing. They tried to train me, but half my power makes no sense.”
Raziel’s grin fades, replaced by something harder. Older.
“First things first,” he says, tapping his chest. “No more feeding on me. You’ve got a whole bond of demons who’ll happily bleed for you. Use them. That’s what the bond is for.” His eyes narrow. “Stop thinking like prey, little one. You’re not a victim. You’re a force. You burn for a reason.”
The words carve into me, settling deep.
“You’re stronger than Zepharion. Stop doubting. And with the three of them tied to you?” He smirks, sharp and knowing. “You’ll be unstoppable—if you stop being afraid.”
I whisper, “And if I fail?”
His gaze is iron. “Then you die. And Deimos burns the world trying to follow.”
I flinch, but I don’t look away.
Raziel leans closer, voice low, almost tender. “But you won’t. Because when the moment comes, you’ll feel it. That edge between breaking and burning. That’s when you stop holding back. You call on all of them. And you burn him from the inside out.”
The air vibrates with the certainty in his tone.
Then he steps back, satisfied. “Good girl.”
My heart lurches at the words—warm, shameful, wrong—and he sees it. Smirks.
“Oh, you’re going to be trouble. Make sure to remind my brother to bring you around when you settle.”
He flicks his hand. The world shatters like glass.
Light. Power. The throne room slams back into place.
Zepharion’s hands are still wrapped around mine, as if nothing happened at all.
But everything has.