Ronen #2
My shadows writhed inside me, eager to rip apart his brain.
They burst from my hands, slamming against the walls and scraping the stone as they clawed toward the dungeon doors—seeking, hunting.
They’d already had a taste of his blood.
It was in us now. Forever. It didn’t matter where he went; my shadows could hunt him down.
“Did you bring down more handsome prisoners?” Anya, our dead human nuisance, asked, breaking me from my murderous reverie.
“No. Infected. They’ve been bitten.”
“By?”
“Damned that have been infected.”
There was movement in her cell. “They’re still out there even though you killed Lilith?”
I turned. She was pressed up against her cell bars.
Her long black hair fell around her green turtleneck, the same length it had been since her soul arrived in the Redemption Circle.
Her pale face appeared grime-free, courtesy of the supplies I provided her.
Twenty years ago, when the gates were last open, she could’ve avoided this fate if she had let Lucifer redeem her.
Yet she chose to stay in these dungeons out of fear.
“How do you know who we killed? Is this part of your so-called divination?”
“You don’t believe humans have divination.”
She was right. Angels and demons were the only species I was taught had power.
Recently, I had to alter that view to include witches.
I’d never believed in them. I’d always thought it was a term used for humans who played with herbs and spoke riddles, convincing people they had power.
Even Magda, the witch in Elora, I believed to be a demon masquerading under the guise of one.
Easier to lure in prey when one called themselves a witch versus a demon.
As for Lilith, I’d always thought she was both a demon and the creator of demons. I’d never heard of the term blood-witch until the day we killed her. I was still having a difficult time believing what she said she was.
If she had been a witch, then how did Lucifer not know? Wouldn’t he have heard of her kind? He said he hadn’t.
“The handsome one talks in his sleep,” Anya offered.
Sleep?
The pet didn’t look like he had been sleeping.
“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t believe in divination.” Anya stared at me for a long moment, the seriousness reflected in her tone matching her face.
It made me pause long enough to consider her words.
“Maybe.” There were a few things I didn’t believe in and should have. Like the fact the Damned, the souls tortured in the lowest circles, could even breach the Redemption Circle, let alone be infected. Or that someone could be bonded to two people. I turned, heading to find the missing pet.
“Remember what I told you a few weeks ago. Don’t get attached,” she called after me, her voice echoing up the stairs.
“Too late,” I whispered.
Releasing my shadows, we hunted the pet’s blood signature. It wasn’t hard. His practically sang and vibrated with the energy of his heavenly fire. The vibrations of his blood were almost as extreme as Lucille’s.
And they led me right to her rooms.
My shadows raced beneath the door before I could leash them—or so I told myself. There was a grunt, then a bang, and I couldn’t hold back my smirk.
Opening her door, I noted I needed to create a shadow lock on her handle. It’d help keep out unwanted pests. Then I laid cold eyes on him.
Thrust up against the wallpaper, he struggled against my strangling shadows, not even attempting to burn them away. Pathetic. They’d kill him if I let them. I was tempted, but her room wouldn’t be the place I’d do it.
I walked toward him, taking my time, enjoying his choking. When I reached him, I leaned in and placed my face right next to his ear.
“What the fuck are you doing in her rooms?” I asked calmly, lightening my shadows’ hold. They resisted me at first, but eventually gave in to my control.
“I could ask—you the same damned thing, shadow-wielder,” he croaked.
“She doesn’t want you here.”
I was prepared for him to counter with the same statement, but then his body shuddered with broken laughter. The grating sound was knowing, as if he had a secret to share.
“Actually, she does.”
I stepped back, keeping my cold mask on. Before my shadows murdered him, I shoved them back inside me. The pet rubbed his throat, and his remorseful eyes tempted my hand.
“A part of me wants to keep you in your head. Let you suffer with whatever thoughts are eating you alive.” He sighed.
“But this isn’t about our…” He shook his head, that self-deprecating look snapping back onto his face.
“The guardian bond wouldn’t let her leave my side with the ongoing attack.
And since she couldn’t stop worrying about you and looked dead on her feet, MJ made her drink a sleeping draught. ”
“And you didn’t leave after she fell asleep?”
“I didn’t want to risk the bond waking her.”
I scoffed. “No, you just didn’t want to.”
MJ wouldn’t have gone to some novice for a sleeping draught, especially not when it came to Lucille. She would’ve asked Sam for one, and he would’ve made it strong. No bond, battle, or bellow would wake her.
The pet placed his hands into his suit pockets and shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t.”
I eyed him from head to toe. Alexei’s suit fit his length, but the sleeves and legs hung loose. His hair, though washed, was too long. Someone, most likely MJ, had given him a razor to shave his face. Now he appeared younger, paler—weak. Not just physically, but mentally.
“You don’t deserve her.”
He laughed again, short and mocking. “I’m well aware of that.
But neither do you. Over the last two months, she never once mentioned you.
After figuring out you were bonded when you fought to get to her, I wondered why.
Why would Lucille let me run my tongue down her body and wring sweet cries from her—”
I slammed my fist into his fucking smug face. He flew back into the settee, the wooden legs screeching against the floor. He smiled, rubbing his jaw and split lip. Then the stupid bastard kept talking.
“When you admitted to the bond, and to blocking it from her, I felt a lot like you do now.” His smile dropped. “Pissed off. I had already broken her heart, and you decided to break it again on the day of her mother’s funeral!”
I lurched forward, wanting to hit him again, then hissed as my nose hit a flaming red barrier.
“Yes,” MJ snapped, stalking into the room. “Let’s just shout and scream, beat each other up, and act like worthless children instead of the immortal warriors you are. And in Lucille’s rooms. Even better.” She slow-clapped, keeping her flames between us.
Shame held back any pathetic explanations. It seemed it did the same to the pet too.
MJ nodded. “That’s what I thought. And I agree with Aspen. Currently, neither one of you deserves her. Now get the hell out of her room. Aspen can stay in Oliver’s.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
“That way he’s nice and close to you so you can keep an eye on him, Ronen,” MJ said, cutting me off.
He’d also be nice and close to someone else.
“Why don’t you show him where that’s at, Ronen?” MJ had her if you fuck with me, you’ll regret it face on, so I ate my words and resisted dragging him out by his neck as we left.
After shoving the pet into Oliver’s room, I stormed through the castle halls, pissed about the pet, the infection, and Lucifer’s antics at the funeral.
I hadn’t planned on stabbing Lucille’s mom through the chest. Nor did I ever think Lucifer would stoop so low as to ask his daughter to expose herself and burn her mother.
Even voicing the question was dangerous.
I knew he was in pain. I knew he didn’t want to be the one to complete the ceremony.
That was why tradition dictated that loved ones of the deceased were to elect a Power who wasn’t close to the death to burn the body.
The soul-burst and witnessing the bones were traumatic enough.
We had a Power selected. Then he disrespected the ceremony and his daughter by asking her.