Chapter 4 #2
I yelped and lunged backward. Demon spirits—too many of them gathered outside. Through their not fully corporeal bodies, I beheld more approaching, stepping through the now shut gate guarding the manor grounds.
Fuck. They could go through walls.
And since I had technically been delivered to Vaelor, or at least his home, the spirits of the dead mercenary army could come for me.
I raced for the room’s exit, even though I knew it was futile. Any second they’d come through the wall and end my life. I banged on the locked door so hard that my hand hurt. “Please, open up, they’re going to kill me. Please have mercy.”
A dark chuckle sounded behind me. “This is oddly ironic.”
I spun around. An abaddon demon spirit stood in the room.
I recognized the black, serrated horns curling back from his head, the deep burgundy hair, the broad, imposing frame.
Mist curled about him, seeping across the floor.
He wore the same clothes as when I’d first seen him in the tent at the mercenary camp, though now I saw straight through him to the wallpaper beyond.
And his eyes… those glowing red eyes were different—darker, hungrier, edged with a molten orange that made my pulse stutter.
He stepped closer. His large bat wings spread behind him, the movement slow and deliberate.
Lord Vaelor.
I swung a finger, pointing to the window. “My lord, they’re going to come through and…” It was silly to expect him to care. I wanted to scream. But all I did was feel my heart race. “And…” I glanced toward the window.
The demons behind it remained there, enraged and murderous…
…but not entering through the walls of the manor.
Lord Vaelor tilted his head, the faint orange glow in his eyes sharpening the intensity of his gaze as it lingered on me a moment too long—steady, knowing, and unsettling enough to make heat crawl beneath my skin.
“You believe I’d protect you from them?” His voice was deep and melodic.
He stepped to the window, his movements lithe and sleek like a knife through silk.
Laying his hand on the glass, he looked outside at the demons gathered there.
One of them made a rude gesture. “The inheritance contract that protects my claim on the manor keeps them from entering. For now.” He grasped the curtains and pulled them shut.
The icy fear in my body faded, and my shoulders sagged. If that were true, I no longer needed to worry about the monsters outside.
I glanced at Vaelor, and the coldness under my skin returned in an instant.
I needed to worry about the beast in the room with me.
Vaelor never took his eyes off me as he stepped back. He approached the backless chair, resembling an elegant stool on the room’s far side, and sat down.
The intensity in his expression unnerved me, like a predator that had already settled on its prey.
“Sit down.” He motioned to the second place setting across the table from him.
As if in response, my stomach growled. And yet, I remained by the door. I wanted a way out. I needed a way out. There was none. I hadn’t heard the door open when he entered, which meant he must have recently stepped through the locked door.
And though he could only touch me for a brief time, it would be more than enough to inflict serious damage. According to my guard, any weapon I might try to use against him would be useless.
Gods, I was horribly vulnerable.
His eyes narrowed. “Are you frightened, human?”
“Yes.”
“As you should be.” He motioned at the table. “Sit.”
Refusing him would only make him angry. This time I released the door handle and moved toward the table. The mist twisted about my feet as I sat on the edge of my seat, back straight, muscles tensed, ready for anything. Waiting for when he snapped and his violent nature emerged.
“You killed an entire army. Some would be impressed. But given Spiritu Malignos’s untimely arrival, I must conclude that you have unparalleled misfortune.”
I let out a slow breath, confused by his calm words when his eyes watched me with such dark intent. “It would seem that way.”
He nodded, indicating the silver dome covering my plate. “Eat. You are hungry.”
The faint emphasis he placed on the last word sent a warning skittering down my spine. I reached out and lifted the cover.
Heat rolled into my face, carrying a smell I knew instantly. Venison stew. My stew.
Shit. My hands trembled as I set the cover aside. “You brought me here just to poison me?”
He kept watching me with that unnervingly focused stare, but now there was something lethal beneath it, something patient and cruel.
“What greater agony exists,” he said softly, “than spending your dwindling moments contemplating what awaits? You sprung my death on me. I wanted to give you time to think about it.” His gaze flickered to the bowl.
“And that isn’t your stew exactly. It is similar, I admit.
But you have no idea what is in that stew. ”
I stared at it, my stomach twisting harder with each second.
His lips curved, the smile devoid of warmth. “Perhaps I am merciful and will let you live. Or perhaps it is far worse than death.” The tone was dark and commanding. “Eat.”
I was almost certain it was poison. My mind raced through every horrific possibility. Whatever was in that stew might weaken me, leave me helpless at his mercy while he dragged out my suffering for days.
That would be far worse than death.
“I’m not hungry,” I said, forcing the words out evenly despite the pounding in my chest.
At the worst possible moment, my stomach growled with force. Humiliation burned through me. Demons had excellent hearing—if I heard it, he definitely had. My own traitorous body was going to get me killed.
“Then a toast.” He lifted his goblet with elegant slowness. “To the cleverness of almost outsmarting your enemies.”
I didn’t touch the food or drink.
He set the goblet down with a soft clink, his glowing eyes flashing brighter. “Do you wish to insult me?”
“I don’t wish to be poisoned,” I whispered. The deadly substance could as easily be in the drink as in the food. Maybe he’d poisoned both for good measure.
His smile took on a cruel twist. “Poor, frightened little lamb.”
I pressed my lips together but didn’t respond. Even if the poison killed me quickly, Spiritu Malignos had found a way to ensure that demon spirits remained after death. I wasn’t na?ve enough to think the same opportunity was possible for humans.
When I died, that was it. Not that I wanted to be bound to Spiritu Malignos forever; that would be torture.
But if I died, then I couldn’t find Gerand.
Lord Vaelor rose from his seat. “Tell me, human.” Though his voice kept its smoothness, all signs of friendliness had vanished.
“Have you ever felt the agony of your body burning from the inside out? The torture of your eyes swelling until you swear they’ll melt from their sockets?
The feeling of careening into a slow, inevitable death? ”
I gripped my seat, my nails digging into the wood. “No.”
He took another step toward me, malice flaring in his glowing eyes, his gaze never leaving mine. “Do you know what it’s like standing on redemption’s edge, then having it torn away?”
I had nowhere to run, nowhere to go, so I forced myself to answer. “No.”
He took another slow, certain step, coming inevitably closer. “Would anyone stop me from throwing you to the horde of demons outside and letting them tear you apart?”
I swallowed. “No.”
He was close. Too close. He reached out, sharp nails brushing across my cheeks in a slow caress. “And if I wished to shred you myself, right this instant, do you think anyone would come to your aid?”
His touch was a blade against my vulnerable skin. Any second he might follow through with his threat. The possibility left me both hot and cold. “No,” I whispered, the sound barely louder than a breath.
He slid his hand under my chin and tipped my face upward. “Then make this easy. Drink when I tell you to.”
He raised my goblet to my lips. I jerked back, knocking it from his grip and splashing the dark liquid across the table.
As I bolted to get away, my foot caught on a stool leg, sending me off-balance.
I grabbed for the table, rattling the cutlery, and the knife shifted under my hand, its edge slicing into my palm.
Pain tore through me, and I fell backward, hitting the floor.
Lord Vaelor stared at the spilled drink, his murderous gaze snapping to mine. “Fine. We will do this the hard way.”
I pushed myself to my feet, agony lancing through the wound on my palm. I stumbled back, grasping my injured hand as he stalked toward me.
“What in the…” He stopped in his tracks, his nostrils flaring.
His image blurred before coalescing right in front of me again.
He grasped my wounded hand, and I tried to tear it from his grip, but he held on like a vice.
Raising my hand to his lips, his forked tongue slid out, dragging across my palm.
Pain flared as he swiped it against my wound, tasting my blood.
“What the fuck is this?” His eyes widened, and for the first time, he looked genuinely rattled.
“Let me go!” I cried.
He released me, and I retreated from him. He stared at me, his jaw clenched, his fingers pulled into fists. Without another word, he turned and stalked from the room, passing right through the locked door and out of sight.