Chapter 22 #5
I release my power, my orange magic twisting in the air as it slithers toward the demon. I don’t know how potent my truth spell will be without touching the creature or having him drink it down in a tonic. I guess we’re about to find out.
When it gets close to his face, he intentionally breathes in, his eyes still fixed on mine. Clearly this demon does not give a shit about my spells or my intentions.
“What is your name?” I ask.
It arches a brow. “You think I will willingly give it to you?”
He doesn’t even seem remotely uncomfortable talking around the truth. Shit.
“Hungering Ones,” I say, keeping eye contact with the demon, “you wanted to be fed?”
I sense them stirring in the ground beneath me.
“Wanap.” Slice.
Spells like this one, which invoke dark magic, don’t have a lasting effect on demons. But right now, I don’t need it to have lasting effect; I just need it to have an effect.
And it does. Cloth and flesh part along the demon’s upper chest, and a curtain of black blood spills from the wound.
The creature hisses, but even as he does so, his blood drips, then sinks into the earth.
He peers down at his chest, then touches the wound. “You crazy bitch,” he murmurs, almost fondly.
Beneath him, the ground shivers and roils as the Hungering Ones draw in the demon’s blood.
… More, Empress …
I ignore the primeval gods that beckon me, remembering how one of the last times I involved them in my problems, they split the earth wide open and nearly dragged me down.
I back up a couple steps, swaying a little on my feet. Blood loss is still making me feel lightheaded and a touch nauseous.
“What is your name?” I ask the demon again.
That amused smirk is still on the creature’s face. He leans forward conspiratorially, his gaze flicking over my face. “Suck my—Fyvyrius.”
I see his eyes widen, and Goddess, but I think I could get off on surprising demons.
“Fyvyrius.” I try the name out.
I can tell dear Fyvyrius is trying hard to control his facial expressions, but his features keep twitching like he’s suppressing a snarl.
“Demon names are heavily guarded, aren’t they?” I say. “Otherwise, anybody could chain your will to theirs, isn’t that right, Fyvyrius?”
He curls his upper lip at me. “Do you think I’m worried?”
“Well, now I know it, and my friend here now knows it,” I say, gesturing to Kane, who is still distractingly naked.
The shifter steps forward. “And I am happy to tell every fucking person I know that I learned the true name of this demon, Fyvyrius,” he says, his voice unnaturally low and gravelly.
He turns to me, and I can tell he’s still fighting to maintain his form.
“I bet we could make it into a drinking game.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.”
The demon toes the line of salt, his foot hitting the invisible barrier.
Closing his hand and pulling back his arm, he smashes his fist into the wall of the spell circle again and again.
I see his knuckles split and black blood smear against that invisible wall, the tar-like substance seeming to hang in midair.
“Who forged a bond with you?”
He’s still slamming his fist into the spell circle when the name slips out. “William Musgrove.”
Sounds like William and I will be having a little chat, Memnon says ominously.
The demon pauses, breathing heavily. “This spell circle will come down, and when it does, I’m coming after you.”
Mark me, Memnon says. Fyvyrius will know true suffering once he meets me.
“Why did William send you after me?” I ask.
“What makes you think William was the one who sent me?” Fyvyrius asks.
I tilt my head, even as a wave of nausea rolls through me. “Who else would’ve sent you?”
“Who indeed?” he says.
That wasn’t a direct answer, but I can’t be bothered to rephrase the question. Sweat is beading at my brow, and sudden movements are making me sway.
“You’re not looking so hot, sugar,” the demon says, his sharp eyes seeming to notice everything, even in the darkness.
Kane leans toward me and draws in a breath. Whatever he scents causes a low whine to start up in his chest.
“You know, it’s a curious thing,” the demon says.
“The Old Ones are an enigma, even to demonkind. But we hear their whispers from time to time. And the oddest thing: for centuries there were rumors they were hiding something.” His eyes flick over me again.
“The language you spoke, the way they answer to you when they don’t anyone else—their little forbidden treasure was you. ”
I don’t think I have much blood left in my body, but what remains seems to drain from my face as I stare at the demon.
To think my spirit was a deity’s plaything for millennia… A very real shiver courses through me. It’s, unfortunately, entirely possible, given the deal I first struck with the Hungering Ones when I was Roxilana.
The demon laughs as he appraises me. “I don’t know how you escaped them, but your soul won’t be theirs this time. Not when I’ve already claimed it.”
I sway again, and I hear Kane’s low growl. He places a hand on my shoulder, and even without speaking I know what he’s saying: it’s time to go.
Withdrawing my dagger, I use the tip of it to prick my finger, letting two droplets of blood fall to the ground.
“With my blood, strengthen this circle.” To be honest, I’m not sure my blood went entirely to the spell, not when I sense the Hungering Ones lingering just beneath the surface of the earth.
Once I finish, I sheathe my blade and stumble back until I fall against Kane. The lycanthrope, who was terrifying only a few minutes ago, now seems safe.
“Kane, will you finish walking me home?” Are my words slurring? “I don’t feel…so good.”
I feel Fyvyrius’s hungry eyes on me as Kane steers me away from the demon. The lycan’s skeptical expression moves from me to the demon.
We’re going to leave him there? his face seems to say.
“Memnon is coming—he’ll take care of Fyvyrius!” I say, raising my voice until I’m practically shouting the name.
“Fuck you!” I hear the demon shout back.
“No thank you!” I call over my shoulder, falling deeper against Kane. “I have standards!”
The demon says something back, but he’s now too far away to hear.
“Selene.”
My eyes are having a hard time focusing, but I force them to take in Kane’s face.
I’m sure he’s going to chastise me for that little exchange, but instead he says, “Something’s wrong. You smell…off.”