Chapter Thirteen
Darkness closed in, so thick it threatened to suffocate me. This darkness was familiar, as were the rough stone beneath my feet and the glowing snow-white palace on the horizon. He’d trained me here—a spot of desolate void overlooking an otherworldly city at the foot of his ghostly home.
His hand met my waist from behind, pulling me flush with his chest. Sickly sweet perfume washed over me. Though I couldn’t see him, I knew exactly who he was.
Vapula.
I mouthed his name, my voice refusing my summons, muscles locking in his hold. His breath caressed my ear, raising goosebumps on my arms as he gave a deep, sinister laugh. I couldn’t move—I tried, but my body froze as his will overrode my own.
“Oh, sweet Lillia,” he murmured, his tone a parody of a lover’s. “Have you forgotten your vows? Have you forgotten that you’re owned? That you’re mine?”
My skin crawled beneath his fingers. They moved over my stomach, pulling me to him, smothering me. I couldn’t run, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—
I jolted awake with a gasp, my heart pounding, body trembling, and skin slick with sweat.
My eyes darted about, scanning my surroundings.
The dim light of a lantern. Black velvet curtains.
Ornate wooden furniture and a fur rug sprawled across the floor.
Sitri’s mansion. A glance at the door confirmed it was still locked, and only shadows lurked in the corners of my room. I was safe.
“Just a dream,” I whispered, hoping it was true, that he couldn’t walk my dreams here the way he had in life.
I rubbed my trembling hands together and steadied my ragged breathing.
Willed myself to calm. The nightmares had worsened over the past few days, depriving me of rest and keeping me on edge.
The Prince had isolated me. Whatever interest his household demons had shown in me before had vanished. Even Sitri spent more time locked behind closed doors, entertaining the endless flow of meetings and couriers he hosted in his chancery.
In the chaos, I’d been forgotten. I wasn’t sure if Sitri intentionally inflicted this torment, or if my own mind was to blame.
A week working alongside him had done me some good, though I’d never admit it to his face.
He’d given me a way to quiet my dread and escape the house arrest he’d placed me under, conditional on his supervision.
I had come to rely on those brief ventures.
Now they slipped away, and the silence left behind spawned anxieties I couldn’t quite crush.
I shuffled out of bed, shaking off the emotions still clinging to me, and toweled the moisture off my skin.
There was no more sleep here for me, not tonight, when I was so alone and carried so much fear.
Food and drink would help. The idea of eating turned my stomach, but it would settle my overactive nerves; it always had in life.
I didn’t listen to my body’s protest. Once I was certain all was quiet in the hall, I slipped out of my bedroom and locked the door behind me.
As I made my way towards the dining room, sound from deeper within the mansion drew my attention. Raised, cheerful voices, both masculine and feminine. I hesitated, unsure if I should insert myself into unknown demon festivities.
Then came a laugh, deep and raspy.
Sitri’s laugh.
It resonated through my chest, bringing warmth and an unexpected sense of safety. As soon as it emerged, my face wrinkled, and I tried to stamp that sense of safety out. It was what he wanted me to feel—more dangerous than any blade he wielded, any secret he kept.
Even knowing that, I followed the laughter down the hall. This was a chance to learn about my captors. Nothing more.
It led me to the entryway, where the doors to the great room hung ajar.
The voices inside had quieted some. I settled against the door, hoping to listen in, only to hear Mara mutter her thanks.
Her footsteps approached. My heart sank.
Hinges creaked, and I found myself face-to-face with the demoness.
Despite her short stature, Mara somehow looked down on me as she stepped into the hallway. The smile on her face faded. She carried a pair of silver chalices filled to the brim with dark red liquid that swirled about as she halted.
“It seems someone is up past bedtime.” She held my stare, unflinching.
I swallowed. “Just up for a midnight walk,” I said, holding my breath in anticipation of her response.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied me.
“Is that Lillia you’ve caught out there?” Sitri’s voice sounded from the great room, and Mara stiffened.
I let out a sigh of relief. Maybe there was some safety in his presence after all.
“Come on in, darling,” he called. “You’re just in time for a rare treat.”
Before Mara objected, I gave her a forced smile and shuffled past her towards the open double doors.
Her eyes followed my every move. When I entered, Sitri was the first thing I noticed.
Even in his relaxed posture, he dominated the space.
The Prince reclined on a red leather loveseat.
He’d kicked his boots up on one armrest and arched his back against the other.
His left arm lay crossed behind his head.
In his free hand, he held a chalice much like Mara’s, and on the end table beside him was something I’d never dreamed of seeing in Hell.
Wine. Three big glass bottles of the stuff, and one last empty chalice to contain it.
My heart began to race. Was this a trap, or just a fortunate coincidence? I glanced back at the doorway, where Mara no longer lurked. Sitri had me alone, vice in hand, my willpower already strained. This was dangerous territory.
Our eyes met, and he smiled.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.” I took a step toward the doors. “If all is well here, I can—”
“You don’t have to go unless you want to, darling. There is plenty to share.”
“And what exactly is this? A wartime party?”
Sitri’s smile widened to a smirk, revealing wine-stained fangs. “Just a little gift from a longtime friend of mine, whose support I remain lucky enough to enjoy. She decided to treat us to a taste of luxury.”
I swallowed, weighing my options. Sitri seemed calm.
At ease, if predatory. Alcohol would help me sleep, and if I were being honest with myself, I really wanted the drink.
I hadn’t been sober this long in years. My grim new reality pushed me to my limits, and alcohol was a tonic that promised to soothe my pain.
I glanced at the bottles on the table, over to Sitri, then back to the wine. My desires tipped the scales, and I took a seat in the velvet chair at his side.
“Just for a little while,” I said, unsure how much I meant it.
Sitri swung his feet to the floor, swept up the remaining chalice, and filled it with the crimson fluid. Then, he offered it to me. “There you are, darling. Seconds are available if you want them.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, leaning forward to claim it.
As my fingers curled around the chalice’s stem, I felt a vibration in the metal. I looked at the surface of the wine, and the ripples forming there betrayed the Prince’s secret. Sitri held the cup with a slight tremor.
I stole a second glance over my shoulder, where the doorway still stood empty, but knowing Mara might overhear killed any questions forming on my tongue. I didn’t trust her, and if I was right about Sitri’s condition, I didn’t want to call attention to it.
Sitri released the chalice, and as I drew it to my lips, the wine sloshed about.
It was much thicker than I’d expected. It smelled more savory than sweet, but underneath that unusual aroma, the familiar scent of booze lurked—not vodka or even whiskey, but it would do.
I took my first sip. Its unctuous texture surprised me, as did its complex, slight, coppery aftertaste.
Still, the burn it brought was a balm for my soul.
I sighed, tilted my head upwards, and drank.
Sitri lifted an eyebrow as I returned my empty cup to the table. “That’s an impressive showing.”
As the heat of the alcohol settled in my stomach, my cheeks grew warm as well. “I suppose you could say that.”
“There’s no shame in it.” The Prince poured another helping of wine into my chalice. “I will not judge. Hell is a place of sin. No amount of poison can do you in here; you may drink until you’ve had your fill.”
My breath hitched. He always seemed to know more than I’d let on. It was impossible to know if he’d made a lucky guess or if my fate was written in my soul. I willed my face to stay straight. His gaze danced over me, a warning that he’d caught the shift in my expression.
“And what exactly would it take?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. A slight tilt of Sitri’s head suggested he hadn’t planned to let it go. Whether for my sake or his, he did so anyway.
“Violence, really.”
He took a tall drink of his wine, and I followed suit. Even after he had finished, I continued taking anxious sips.
“Other things bring suffering, not annihilation. Poison, suffocation, hunger, and thirst have no bearing on a demon’s immortality. Why do you ask, darling? Planning to put that knowledge into practice?”
“Not at all, just wondering,” I said.
“The longer you spend here, the more sense our strange world will make. Your chalice, if you please?”
I looked down to find my cup empty once more.
I needed to get my drinking under wraps.
Part of me longed to deny him and hold on to the remnants of my self-control.
I didn’t need another glass; the pleasant, burning tingle in my mind warned me the alcohol was already doing its work.
I wanted more, though, and there was more to be had.
Alone and enabled, it was all too easy to give in.
“Here.” I passed it back to Sitri.