Chapter 12 THE DEVIL’S BARGAIN
The hours blurred together like watercolors left out in the rain.
I slept. Woke. Slept again. Each time I surfaced, the room looked the same.
The same amber glow from the fireplace, the same worried faces, the same faint smell of burned rosemary from Caleb’s failed attempts still threading through everything.
But each time I sank back under, the darkness pulled a little harder.
People came and went though I felt them more than I saw them.
The shift of air when someone entered the room.
The careful hush of footsteps. Hands brushing my arm, my shoulder, my hair.
Carly’s quiet sniffle. Morgan’s restless, pacing energy that never quite left the room even when she did.
Gabriel’s unwavering, watchful silence. Tessa hovering close, checking my temperature over and over again like it might suddenly be okay again.
Their eyes said everything their mouths couldn’t say.
I’m sorry.
This isn’t fair.
We don’t know how to fix this.
Please don’t die.
I wanted to tell them it was okay. That I wasn’t afraid. But the words wouldn’t come anymore. My tongue felt thick and useless, my throat constricted by whatever toxins were spreading through my veins.
When things deteriorated, Trace became my voice.
He answered questions when I couldn’t. Reassured them when my body was too heavy to manage more than a blink or a breath.
When Gabriel asked if I needed anything, Trace answered.
‘She’s okay. Just tired.’ When Tessa whispered that she loved me, Trace relayed my response.
‘She loves you too. She says stop crying; she’s not dead yet. ’
A weak smile from my sister. And then she was gone again.
Trace’s voice had managed to stay calm throughout, even when I could feel how tightly wound he was beneath it.
How scared he was. How helpless. One hand never left me while the other combed slow, patient paths through my hair, over and over, like he was afraid of what would happen to both of us if he stopped.
The motion soothed some of the panic in my chest, even with the soulmate bond humming steadily between us, bright with emotions neither of us could fully hide or quiet. I knew he was feeling everything. The exhaustion. The fear. The anger I kept tamped down because it hurt too much to let it loose.
And he felt the whispers too.
All throughout my decline, they never stopped.
Sometimes they were distant, like voices echoing down a long corridor.
And other times they surged, sudden and loud, overlapping each other as they clawed at the edges of my thoughts.
A constant stream of pleas and promises and commands I wanted to follow but couldn’t.
Always pressing closer, always testing the cracks, reminding me what I needed to do.
Reminding me that they were still there.
At one point, the pull hit hard enough that my body responded before my mind could catch up.
The call crashed over me in a wave, sudden and overwhelming, drowning out everything else.
The Son of Perdition. I needed to find him.
To destroy him. The compulsion seized my muscles, trying to force me upright.
Trace’s hand came down on my shoulder before I’d even lifted my head.
“Easy,” he murmured, guiding me back down with barely any effort at all. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The spell rot had stolen my strength along with everything else. I couldn’t have fought him even if I’d wanted to.
And I didn’t want to.
That was the one mercy in all of this. The one silver lining to the corruption eating me alive from the inside out. I was too weak to hunt. Too weak to hurt the one person I was desperate to protect.
And because of that, the baby was safe from me.
For now, at least.
I let that thought comfort me as I drifted again, Trace’s fingers never pausing their rhythm through my hair. The bond pulsed between us, as constant as a heartbeat.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered every so often. “I’m not letting go.”
I was halfway back under, Trace’s fingers still moving through my hair, when the sound of the front door opening pulled me back.
It was distant at first, muffled by the walls between us and the exhaustion weighing down on me, but it cut through the fog in my head like a bell.
Everyone in the room went deathly still.
Even Trace’s hand paused mid-stroke, his whole body going rigid as the footsteps echoed down the hall toward us.
Using every morsel of strength I had left, I forced my eyes open just as the sound of other footsteps registered. Lighter. Multiple sets again. Two, maybe three pairs of feet moving in synchronized rhythm half a step behind the first pair.
Dominic was back, and he brought company.
My heart kicked against my ribs as he finally stepped into view, his long black coat still on, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at anyone else in the room. His gaze went straight to me, and for a split second, something fierce and terrified flared in his eyes before he masked it again.
Gabriel rose from his chair. “What did you do?” he asked, sounding worried and angry in equal measure.
Dominic didn’t answer him. Instead, he stepped aside.
The Roderick sisters appeared in the doorway like apparitions conjured straight out of a convoluted fever dream—tall, unmoved, and radiating a power I could feel halfway across the room.
Their presence instantly filled the space the way smoke filled a closed room, invasive, inescapable, and heavy with the promise of ruin.
Even the air seemed to tighten around them, the whole room drawing inward as though it recognized something old and dangerous the rest of us were still trying to put a name to.
Anita stood in the center of her sisters, her flame-red hair twisted into something elegant and severe at the nape of her neck.
Her gaze swept the room with cool detachment, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth, as though our desperation was little more than a mild curiosity.
To her left was Annabelle, blonde and immaculate, her posture relaxed to the point of disdain. She looked at us the way one might look at something already beneath consideration, already dismissed.
And finally, to her right, Arianna. The one who didn’t know how to stay dead. Her dark hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, her amber eyes locking onto mine with immediate, unsettling focus. There was something knowing in that look. Something that already knew how this was all going to end.
“My word,” drawled Annabelle, her eyes narrowed on me. “Would you look at that.”
And by that, she meant me and the visible poison overtaking my body.
Anita hummed in agreement.
I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why Dominic had brought them here. They were literally the last three people on earth I ever expected to see in my living room. Frankly, they were the last three people I ever wanted to see again period.
Especially like this.
Trace carefully helped me into a seated position, one arm braced firmly around my back as Gabriel stepped forward, his attention snapping to his brother.
“What the hell is the meaning of this, Dominic?” demanded Gabriel, gesturing to the sisters. “Have you lost your mind entirely?”
Dominic’s didn’t hesitate. “I’m doing what’s necessary.”
“Which is what? Bringing the very people who tried to kill her into our home?”
Dominic snorted. “In case you’ve forgotten, brother, it was not the witches who forced a death sentence into her body. That would be the other side.” His eyes darkened to pitch. “You remember them, don’t you? You’ve certainly dedicated enough of your life to serving them.”
“Ooh,” cooed Annabelle with exaggerated interest. “The martyr and the monster. How positively biblical.”
“Shut the fuck up,” snapped Trace which seemed to elicit a wolfish grin from her as she looked him up and down and then licked her lips like she liked what she saw.
If I wasn’t half dead, I would have throat-punched her.
Gabriel’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t rise to the bait. His attention stayed locked on Dominic. “This is insanity, Dominic. Even for you.”
“No. It’s a change in strategy.” Dominic prowled further into the room, closing the distance between himself and his brother. “If the Order is determined to end her by any means necessary, then logic dictates their enemies ought to become our allies.”
I glanced at Anita. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted at all to Dominic’s speech. Just stood there with that same detached expression, like she was watching a play she’d already seen a dozen times.
I didn’t trust her. Not for one second.
“They’re the only ones powerful enough to match the Order’s magic,” continued Dominic as confident and unbothered as ever. “And right now, power is the only language being spoken.”
“And why the fuck would they help us?” asked Trace, his arm still holding me steady despite the strain I could feel in him through our bond. “They don’t do anything unless it benefits them.”
“Precisely,” agreed Dominic, his voice as sweet as honey. “They want to protect the Son of Perdition. And so does she.”
And by she, he meant me. Every eye in the room turned my way.
“The Order and the Horsemen are not going to stop hunting the baby so long as he draws breath,” continued Dominic.
“As it stands, the only thing standing in their way is Jemma.” His gaze flicked briefly to me.
“Even through compulsion, even while corrupted, her need to protect the child overpowered it. Enough to turn on a Horseman and vanquish him.”
Gabriel went quiet. I watched the shift in his expression and saw the exact moment he understood where Dominic was going with this.
“Naturally,” said Dominic, his voice almost casual, “it would only make sense that we join forces.”
“And what makes you think they can be trusted?” asked Gabriel, though his tone had lost some of its edge.