Chapter 30
Rowan
Damien’s hand struck Jules in the chest—punched through Jules’s sternum like it was wet paper, then yanked her heart out. It looked as easy for the High Demon as plucking a flower.
The sound was from a twisted nightmare that I’ll never un-hear.
Organic and hollow—ribs cracking, tissue tearing, blood splattering.
The worst was the wet sucking noise of her heart being ripped from her chest. Jules didn’t scream.
She didn’t have time. Her eyes went wide, mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ of shock, and then she was falling.
Crumpling.
Gone.
One moment she’d been speaking—alive, present, her heartbeat steady in my ears. The next, silence. That vital rhythm snuffed out like someone had blown out a candle.
I’d barely caught the motion; it was little more than a blur of movement. Damien’s hand, clutching Jules’s heart, was already back at his side by the time I registered what happened.
Too fast. Far too fast.
I’d seen death before. Lived with it. Even died myself—twice now it seemed—before coming back.
I’d watched Nightbeasts tear through human flesh like wolves through deer.
Watched hypothermia turn skin blue-black and brittle.
Watched starvation hollow out eye sockets until nothing remained but animalistic desperation.
But this? This was new.
The casual brutality of it, the effortless murder of someone who’d done nothing wrong, the callous snuffing out of a light as bright as Jules’s.
. . I reached out, gripped Violet’s hand, and squeezed her as tight as I could without hurting her.
I knew the shock and hurt that must have been rippling through her.
Every muscle in my body locked down, rigid and overwhelmed with a feeling that only came over me from watching the innocent die.
That feeling was not fear. I’d crossed that threshold years ago, died twice already, and knew what waited for me beyond that horizon.
Fear was a luxury for people who hadn’t already stared into Death’s face.
This was rage, blinding and hot. Pure, crystalline, murderous rage born from decades of watching predators devour prey and being too small, too weak, too late to stop it.
“You. . .” The word scraped out of my throat like broken glass. I couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t find the word adequate for what he’d just done, what he was. “Chudovishche.”
The word felt insufficient. Weak. But it was all I had in that moment.
“How astute.” Damien stood there, his fingers dripping crimson, and reached into his breast pocket with his clean hand.
Drew out a white silk handkerchief, began wiping blood off with the casual air of someone cleaning off paint after an art project.
Each stroke deliberate. Unhurried. The red stained the pristine fabric in spreading blooms.
“The location of a High Demon’s second heart is our most closely guarded secret.
Knowing that secret is akin to having my life in your hands.
” His voice was soft and conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the murder he’d just committed.
Those gilded eyes caught the firelight and gleamed with an unsettling luminescence that was utterly inhuman.
“You should think well before you speak again.”
The threat landed with the accuracy of an arrow to the heart. It had not been loud nor theatrical. But it was the most sincere threat I’ve ever been given, all the same.
Damien walked to the fireplace and tossed the blood-soaked handkerchief into the flames. The silk caught immediately, curled black, then disintegrated into ash and memory.
Every survival instinct I’d honed over my lifetime in the Wasteland screamed at me to bow, to submit, to recognize the apex predator and make myself small.
This thing wearing a man’s face could end me as easily as he’d ended Jules.
My heightened hearing couldn’t save me. My tracking skills wouldn’t matter.
He was speed and violence wrapped in expensive suits and honeyed words.
But Violet was still breathing beside me, her pulse hammering in my ears, her hand trembling in mine. Knowing she was there, that I was responsible for keeping her safe, made supplication impossible.
“So, you plan to kill us now as well, High Demon?” My voice came out low, barely more than a hiss, but it cut through the crackling fire and the terrible silence Jules’s death left behind.
“Oh, chico valiente,” Damien said while waving his hand, “I don’t believe there is any need for further violence. I know the secret location of my hidden heart is safe with the two of you.”
I scowled. “Why in the name of any god would we keep your secrets after you have killed our friend?”
Damien’s lingering gaze slid to Violet, paused, then back to me.
His eyes looked focused. Calculating. “I need you both to understand something about the situation we find ourselves in. I have made it an artform to only surround myself with individuals whom I find singularly interesting, useful, entertaining, or some combination of those three. I’ve known Jules since a time before your ancestors climbed down from the trees and stood upright.
Throughout the millennia together, I have come to cherish her company more than most. That is why I gave her a swift and painless end.
” He took a deep breath. “I would not be inclined to do the same for either of you should my secret leave this room. I would visit upon you both—with a joyous and childlike glee—a holocaust of suffering that neither of you is capable of imagining, despite the horrors you have each seen throughout your lives. Are you both understanding me?”
In my peripheral, I saw Violet nod. I felt compelled to do the same.
“Maravilloso,” Damien said as he spread his hands and smiled.
At the sight of him looking so insufferably smug and triumphant, everything I knew of demons flashed through my mind in a rush. Granted, everything I knew could fit in my back pocket and still leave space for my wallet. Still, there was one thing I felt nearly certain of.
Nearly.
Fuck, this is going to be a gamble.
“I suppose,” I said, “you have more to offer us than simple threats, demon?”
Damien’s smiling face froze, his whole body still. “Would you prefer complex threats?”
I sighed, as if bored with the conversation. “I would prefer that we agree to some terms. You mentioned that I owe you a boon, then you give us conditions for our silence. As far as I am concerned, my silence can serve as my boon, and we can be done with each other.”
“Ah,” he said, “I see where you wish to take this. You’re even more knowledgeable than Jules let on. Am I to assume you wish to forge a contract then? Make our arrangement official?”
“Rowan,” Violet asked, her voice tinged with sorrow and fear, “what’s he talking about?”
I turned to look at Violet. “He is a demon. They live to make deals. To bind mortals within convoluted contracts. It is in their nature.”
“Si, your man is correct there, mi gatita. But if we are to be honest with one another, who doesn’t love a good deal?” Damien turned from us and looked towards a bust upon his desk before he said, “Ciriatto, would you be kind enough to bring me a pot of coffee and remove Jules, please?”
The statue didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure how I would have reacted if it had.
Damien moved to the leather chair behind his desk, the blue and green fire roaring behind him, and settled into the plush seat with the languid grace of a cat claiming sun-warmed stone. He gestured for us to sit in the two chairs in front of his desk.
Where did those come from? I knew I’d been distracted—coming back from the dead could do that to a person, I supposed—but how had I not noticed the two chairs in the middle of the room?
Violet cocked her head. “Those weren’t there a second ago.”
“You are very observant,” Damien said as he gestured again for us to sit.
Once we had, he continued. “Now, you must understand, you are negotiating from a place of weakness. Aside from the overwhelmingly obvious fact that you are entirely at my mercy here in Second Circle beneath my nightclub, there is the slightly less obvious truth that this tragedy is entirely your own fault. After all,” he said and pointed a slender finger at me, “you shared secrets that were not yours to share. You spoke carelessly in the presence of others. You forced my hand.”
My jaw clenched so hard I feared I’d break a tooth. “Bullshit.”
“And as I explained to you both earlier, I am quite fond of Jules. I have been for literal ages. Not only is she a singular companion, dare I go so far as to call her a friend, but she helps me run many of my Oubliettes. She is, in a word, irreplaceable.” He clucked his teeth and shook his head, the very image of dejected sorrow.
“Such genuine sweetness in a person has always been, and I do believe always will continue to be, exceedingly rare. I shall miss her terribly.”
“You killed her,” Violet and I said in unison. From her, the words were a hot venom she nearly shouted in anger. From me, the words came out icy, flat, dead. In that same cadaver, tone I said, “Her death will rest on your conscience. Not mine.”
“Oh, on the contrary.” Those golden eyes fixed on me, ancient and merciless.
“You were the one who created this situation that necessitated her death. It was your thoughtless carelessness. Therefore,” he gestured between us, “you owe me recompense. As I said, a boon would be appropriate. A favor of my choosing, to be called upon whenever I should require it.”
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. The sound came out harsh and bitter, scraping against the elegant room like nails against silk.
“You are insane if you think I will give you anything. You are nothing more than a murderous demon. Jules’s death is your fault.
It was your choice to kill her. There is no world where I owe you aid or recompense for your own bloodlust.”