by Ivy Asher
I look up to find colossal grins on each of the Soul Witches’ faces. Alora looks up at me, her eyes filled with so much joy and affection.
“You two are a beautiful match. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Tears fill her eyes, and she looks over to her wife and then her husband. They all reach for each other’s hands and smile lovingly at one another before turning back to me and Rogan. “We know a thing or two about tethers and bonds, and love and matches. So trust us when we say, your bond is one for the ages.”
I look at Rogan, and he turns to me. I’m floored by the look I see in his eyes, his moss-green gaze telling me loud and clear that he already knew that. Worry falls to the background as I let Alora and her mates’ words sink in. A small smile creeps across my lips, and I can’t deny, one for the ages feels about right.
Alora and the others start to pack up, and a tinge of panic moves through me. Is that it? P.S. you have demon magic, but you and your boyfriend make a cute couple, so you should be good?
“But how do we fix it?” I hurry to ask, worried they’re going to disappear before Rogan and I get the answer to the question that brought them here in the first place. “How do we repair the tether?”
Harmony grins and smooths down the front of her black V-neck sweater. “You just re-tether yourselves. It’s good to do it annually anyway; we’ve always done it on our anniversary,” she tells us before giving Alora and Dave a sweet smile.
“It’s best if you’re as connected as you can be when you recite the incantation, both emotionally and physically, if you catch my meaning,” Alora adds, and it takes me a second.
Sex?
Did Rogan’s aunt just tell us to be having sex when we try to reawaken the tether?
Alora waggles her eyebrows at me, making certain we’re on the same page, and I try so damn hard not to blush.
Oh god, never let her do that again.
“We just re-tether ourselves? That’s it?” Rogan confirms as though he too didn’t think it would be that easy.
“That’s it, just recite the incantation with purpose and commitment to it, and you’ll be all set,” his aunt chirps, placing the last of the vials in her bag.
She reaches out for Rogan’s arm, and he offers it to her and escorts her back to the front door.
“Bye, Elon, it was lovely to see you again. We’re sorry we can’t stay longer, but given the circumstances, it’s best to get as much information as we can as quickly as we can about the bonded demon magic and what Lennox can expect to deal with down the road,” Alora calls over her shoulder.
Elon sets his dust pan and hand broom down and walks over to us to disperse hugs and kisses. “Well, see you soon, I’m sure,” he reassures them, and they all nod and move to head out.
Dave offers me his arm, and I take it awkwardly. Gradually we make our way to the entryway, and Dave is silent until we’ve almost reached the door. Slowly he leans toward me. “For the record, he does look at you with all the overwhelming love and respect and affection that I look at my wife with. Oh, and Ali Wong is hilarious, I wouldn’t have minded the extra entertainment.”
His smile is wide and knowing as he straightens up, pats my hand once, and then unfolds his arm from mine and moves to his wife and her wife. It takes me a moment to realize what he said, but shock and excitement rocket through me when I do.
Holy shit. I was right. Dave can read minds.
I easily recall my plan to try and catch him reacting to my thoughts on Ali Wong’s jokes. But it takes me a minute to figure out what he meant by the first thing he told me. I watch the Soul Witches hug Rogan and wave goodbye to me. As they file out the front door, it suddenly dawns on me. When I first met them, Dave escorted Rogan and me into the gorgeous room with the night sky and constellations painted all over. I remember watching the way Dave looked at Alora and wishing I had someone who would look at me with such raw devotion and pure love. My eyes sting as I make the connection, and Dave shoots me a wink over his shoulder before the door is shut, and Rogan turns around to take me in.
And just like Dave said, it’s there.
Despite my newfound demon blood or the crazy magic that’s currently spinning in my veins. Regardless of how heinous my morning breath can be or my unhealthy addiction to coffee and grilled cheese sandwiches. My cuddle slut ways when I’m tired and the fact that I’m a nighttime farter don’t matter one little bit. Because I can see it as plain as day in Rogan’s gaze, just like I could in Dave’s when he looked at Alora.
Rogan loves the ever-loving shit out of me, and don’t I just love the ever-loving shit out of him right back.
His face is concerned, but it banks with heat as he closes the distance in two strides. I’m up and over his shoulder in less time than it takes me to squeal, and then Rogan is marching through the living room, past the kitchen, up the stairs, and into our room. He throws me on the bed like the caveman he is, and all I can say is that I am here for it.
He reaches behind him and with one hand, whips his sweater over his head in that way hot guys know how to do, and I swear I moan just from that action alone. His smile turns predatory, and suddenly my mind is pumping the brakes...hard. Rogan isn’t just feeling feisty and in need of some one-on-one time with my vagina. He’s ready to snap that tether back in place like it’s no big deal. If I hadn’t just found out that my magic has demon magic bonded to it, I would be all for it, but now I’m not so certain.
Rogan reaches for my leg and pulls off first one thick sock and then the other.
Damn, why is that so hot?
And then he grabs my leggings and pulls them off my legs.
“Rogan, wait,” I pant as I scramble back on the bed to try and get away from him. He leaps for me like he’s fucking Tarzan or something, and I scream way too excitedly for someone who’s trying to get him to calm down and listen.
He wraps his big arms around my waist and pulls me to him, crushing his lips to mine in a kiss so searing my ancestors’ toes would curl. I kiss him back just as fiercely, because how can I not, but when his hand skims under his sweater that I’m wearing to cup my breast, reality crashes down on me, and I know we need to talk first.
“Rogan, hold up, we need to think about this,” I tell him, moaning and almost changing my mind when he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
I shake my head, trying to clear it of the barrage of lusty thoughts that just avalanched through me, and slap his hand away. “Seriously, the demon magic thing is huge, and we need to talk about that before we just jump back into a tether like it’s no big deal,” I tell him breathily, putting space between us so he can’t distract me with, well, pretty much everything about him, because yum.
“It’s not a big deal. I love you, you love me, the tether felt right between us, and I know you want it back just as badly as I do,” he tells me, and the matter-of-fact declarations melt my heart a little.
“I do love you, which is why I want us to really think about what we’re doing instead of jumping in with both feet and potentially fucking something up.”
“Fucking what up?” Rogan grumbles, offended.
“Oh, I don’t know, like your magic for starters. Right now, mine is the only one acting all crazy, but if we jump back into a tether, mine is going to affect yours too. We don’t even know what the long-term ramifications are of what Jamie did. Shouldn’t we wait and get more information from your aunt and maybe a few other trusted sources before we make a decision this big?” I ask him sincerely.
“No,” he counters simply. “I don’t care what the long-term ramifications are. Our tether worked when you woke up the first time, and your magic didn’t fuck with mine then. What makes you think it’s going to start doing something crazy now? In fact, Dave said that it was more powerful and potent, not that it was dangerous, so I don’t see the hesitation here,” Rogan argues, and I roll my eyes.
“You are purposefully trying to be obtuse, Rogan Kendrick,” I accuse. “I’m not saying the tether is off
the table, I’m just saying maybe we should be sure that everything is in working order before you do something that one day you could regret.”
“I am sure,” he growls back, but it’s the sexy kind, not the scary kind, and I try not to let him see how it affects me. “And when it comes to you, there’s no such thing as regrets. Now come here so I can kiss you until you’re dripping, and then bend you over and fuck you until you can’t see straight, and then we can make love to one another while we tether our souls together again the right way, the way we should have done the first time,” he purrs, and I huff out a sigh.
Fuck. Why does he have to make this so damn hard?
My foot starts to heat, and I roll my eyes at him. “Cut it out, I don’t have a foot fetish, so you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I tell him as I try to figure out how to make him stop and think about what he’s doing.
“Good to know,” he grumbles dismissively. “Tell me what you do like then so I can start there, because I’m done arguing. I love you. I don’t care what’s mixed in your magic. I wouldn’t even care if yours suddenly consumed mine and left me powerless. I love you, that means every single part of you. I know we’ll figure this all out together, but I miss feeling you inside of my soul. I can’t help feeling like a piece of me is missing, and I want it back, Lennox. I want you back right where you’re always meant to stay,” he pleads with me, his hand pressed against his heart as his eyes are filled with heat and beseeching.
My foot grows even hotter, distracting me from his incredible heartfelt words. “Seriously, Rogan, stop it. Messing with my blood isn’t going to win you any favors. I hear what you’re saying, and I want it too. I miss you too, I just want to make sure you know what you could be getting into before we jump in feetfirst again,” I plead with him.
“Lennox, I’m all in, feet or otherwise,” he counters, but just then the heat from my foot shoots up into my leg.
Out of nowhere, I feel it everywhere. My eyes widen with shock when I realize I’ve made a mistake. It wasn’t Rogan messing with my blood.
It was the demon mark summoning me.
“Fuck,” I gasp when the tugging sensation starts in my stomach. “Don’t freak out,” I hurriedly tell Rogan as I feel the magical hook sink into me and start to pull me away. “I love you, I’ll be right back!” I shout at him as I go, but all I hear is a furious roar.
Shit, please let me be right back.
21
Bones crunch under my feet as I drop barefoot into a dimly lit cavernous room. The air is thick and stale, the walls and floor a smooth blue marble with black veining, and bones...bones are spread out as far as the eye can see. My magic prickles with their presence, greeting them like old friends, but my pulse races, and anxious butterflies flutter in my stomach furiously.
I look down to see that one of my heels has crushed a horn that was attached to a skull. I step away from it warily and survey the thick layer of osseous matter all around me. I’m surrounded by all shapes and sizes of skulls and skeletons, some with tails, others with horns, wing bones are scattered here and there, and the one thing each and every one of them has in common is that they’re all demon bones.
Is that a dragon skeleton?
Unease creeps up my back as I look around me. Why am I here? Why bring me to a room filled with demon remains? Is Jamie’s demon here already? Is he about to join these piles of bones, or am I?
I run my gaze over the flickering sconces on the walls. The chamber is long and empty, well, except for me and the bones, and an ominous warning curls around my shoulders like a needy cat. I should feel some sense of relief standing in a room filled with the very thing that fuels and guides my magic, but I don’t.
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m currently only donning Rogan’s sweater, my bra and underwear, and a circumspect disposition. Or maybe my apprehension comes from the fact that the mark Dyad gave me was supposed to summon me for a trial. I look around as though maybe I missed something. There’s a raised rostrum with what appears to be three lecterns placed on it, but there’s no one here but me.
“Hello?” I call out, my shaky voice bouncing back at me from the walls.
The sound must displace a pile of bones, as they start to cascade down, and the sudden noise and movement has me whirling around in fear, expecting someone or something to pop out at me. I watch the bones fall down the little slope they were once perched on, reaching out with my magic to make sure there’s nothing living beneath the dusty layers all around me. I don’t feel anything living, but I do feel a heavy patina of death on every inch of this place.
Fuck.
I don’t know what I’m doing here, but it’s impossible not to get the impression that whatever the reason is, it’s bad. Do they know about the demon magic now saturating my blood? Am I in trouble for having it?
I shake my head as I search the walls and ceiling for a door or seam that would hint at a way to escape. It would be just my luck that having demon magic when you’re not actually a demon is considered an offence punishable by death.
A whooshing sound startles me, and all at once, the air around me is disturbed and displaced. I call on dragon ribs for weapons, ready for whatever is coming, or at least trying to look like I am.
Fake it until you make it, right?
Dyad drops down a couple feet next to me. Dust plumes all around him as he does, but not a spec dares to settle on his immaculate clothing, red skin, or long black hair, as though the dust itself is unwilling to risk the demon’s wrath. The crown his horns form on his head makes him look even more regal and menacing in this light, and it makes me wonder if he actually is some kind of demon ruler. He mentioned he was a High Demon before, and I thought I knew what that meant, but now I wonder.
A woman, or rather female demon, rises up out of the ground next to Dyad, like she’s a blooming plant. Instead of leaves and petals unfurling in the dim light of the space, petite milky-white limbs unfold, as does floor-length straight snow-white hair. Her face is beautiful and young, her ivory eyes lacking a pupil or any other color at all.
A grunt sounds behind me, and I turn to see a man in a gray tweed three-piece suit. He looks completely human, with light skin and short light brown hair. He smooths his suit jacket down and then looks up. I immediately take back the human designation as his glowing red eyes meet mine. He dismisses me with barely a glance, focusing his attention instead on Dyad.
“Is this the accuser?” Red Eyes asks, and his voice sounds more like the deep rumble of an earthquake than it does a voice.
“It is,” Dyad confirms, not bothering to look at me either.
“Let’s set up so the accused can arrive and we can get this over with,” the red-eyed man-demon instructs, his tone bored and his face disinterested.
I stand there, not sure what to do. No one is addressing me, and despite my thoughts to the contrary, this is where the trial is going to be. A shiver moves over me as I wait and watch the three demons make their way to the platform. They step up, Dyad grunting like his body objects to the movement, and it makes me wonder how old he is. I have no idea how long demons live, and I make a note to look into it another time.
There must be a bench or something behind the raised lecterns, because the demons sit behind them, and all of a sudden they look like three judges who are now presiding over the room. Well, minus the judges’ robes and if the courtroom were a marble-encased boneyard, that is.
The sconces brighten on the wall as though someone finally found the dimmer switch and flicked it up, exposing the dark recesses of the massive room. Flickers of flame no longer make the shadows all around me dance, but seeing the magnitude of death all around me more clearly doesn’t make me feel better at all. Goose bumps prick at my skin, and I don’t know if it’s from the bleak vibe or the fact that it’s cold in here. I can’t see my breath, but I feel my warmth leaching out of me, and it’s all I can do not to wrap my arms around myself.
“State your name,” the white-haired dem
on demands.
I look around, wondering who she’s talking to.
“Are you deaf? I said state your name,” she snaps at me, and I balk.
“Lennox Marai Osseous,” I tell her, vacillating between nervous and annoyed.
“You will address me as Cozen,” the white demon states. “Him as Gremory,” she says, gesturing to the man-demon in tweed. “And since you filed the complaint with Dyad, you should know him already.”
I nod at the names and pronouns mentioned, and Cozen continues.
“You are here accusing Count Botis the Murk of violating the Accords, is that correct?” she asks as though she’s in a hurry to get this over with.
Count who? The Murk what?
“Uhhh...I don’t…I don’t know,” I admit, looking to Dyad for help. His fixed stare on me is blank.
“You don’t know if Botis violated the laws between our kinds?” she asks, clearly pissed.
Fucking hell. Someone woke up on the wrong side of hell this morning.
“I don’t know the demon’s name,” I tell her, trying to bite back a wince at her sudden fury. “I only know what it looks like. I have no idea if Botis and the demon hunting me are the same.”
Gremory snaps a finger, and out of thin air, a glass-walled cage appears to the left of me. Inside is a huge demon that seems to be wrapped in writhing shadows. I see short black flames instead of hair, and the impression of massive muscles and nudity, but the roiling darkness over its skin blurs the demon somehow. I can see it but can’t focus on it enough to make the details of its body clearer. That is until it turns to me, and I see its eyes.
