Demon Sworn: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Witch's Rebels Book 3)

by Sarah Piper

  I opened my eyes again and tried to orient myself.

  Where was I, exactly? How had I gotten here? Had someone taken me? Where were the guys? Were they out wandering over these inhospitable black rocks, looking for me like I’d been looking for them?

  And why was the front of my shirt covered in someone else’s blood?

  I scraped my tongue along my upper teeth, trying in vain to get rid of that sharp, coppery taste.

  No luck.

  It didn’t add up. Witches weren’t vampires—none of us had ever survived the change. The thought of drinking blood curdled my stomach. How the hell had it gotten in my mouth? On my clothes?

  More importantly—who did it belong to? I was pretty sure it wasn’t mine.

  Had I… had I killed someone? Another vampire? A human?

  Water, Gray. Water. Maybe something edible. Those are your priorities.

  Hitting the pause button on my morbid thoughts, I grabbed a sharp rock and used it to tear off the bottoms of my pant legs, then tied the fabric around my bare feet. The rocks were only getting sharper, and I had no idea how much longer I’d have to walk. As far as I knew, I hadn’t seen any signs of life—water, birds, even centipedes or fire ants would’ve been a welcome sight.

  But no matter how high I scrambled up the ridge, all I could see were more jagged peaks, rising up through the smoke. The vista was endless; from up on the ridge, it looked like a vast sea of torn tissue paper layered in shades of gray and black.

  Aside from the fact that it was trying to kill me, the place was actually kind of beautiful.

  I continued on, one painstakingly slow step at a time. But my makeshift shoe came undone and caught on a rock, sending me tumbling. I hit the ground with a grunt, slicing both my palms.

  Great. More blood.

  I got to my knees and inspected the wounds, watching as my blood dripped onto the rocks below.

  Then it began to glow. Faintly at first, then stronger, pulsing like a bright beacon.

  It was the first sign of my magic since I’d started wandering this place, and I leaped on it ferociously, slamming my palms against the earth, ignoring the stinging bite of the rocks.

  Power surged up my arms and across my back, igniting my senses and kicking them into overdrive. I could smell the fires up close now, like sulfur and coal. The bloody taste in my mouth sharpened. All around me, I could hear the ash falling softly to the ground. And deep inside me, my magic was stirring back to life, warming my chest and vibrating out through my fingers and toes.

  Something shifted in my mind—an audible click, like a gate unlatching. Without warning, a flood of memories rushed out.

  The cool, damp walls of a cave.

  My stomach turning at the words of someone better left forgotten. “You’ve grown up to be more beautiful than I could’ve ever imagined.”

  Reaching out for Liam in my realm, only to be hauled back into that awful cave before I could tell him where I was.

  The repulsive voice of my captor telling me Ronan, Emilio, and Darius were dead.

  Magic seeping into my limbs, unleashed from the stone surrounding me.

  Asher, my fiery incubus, his hands sliding up my back as I writhed in his lap, his eyes as wild as his kiss.

  The look of fear dawning in Jonathan’s twisted gaze as I attacked him.

  “Your blood and your soul, hunter. That’s what I need…”

  My eyes snapped open as the last wisps of fog dissipated from my mind. Jonathan had taken Asher and me prisoner, shot Asher full of deadly nanotech—an internal devil’s trap. Though I didn’t believe him, he’d told me in gruesome detail how he’d tormented and killed the others. That he wanted me to join him on his sick, demented quest.

  That he wanted my power. My ability to raise beings from the dead.

  Asher and I… We…

  Heat rushed to my cheeks as that particular memory danced through my mind. Despite the circumstances of our imprisonment, being with him like that—tasting his kiss, feeling him inside me, shattering with white-hot pleasure at his touch…

  I shivered at the memory. Sex with Asher… It’d saved him.

  In some ways, maybe it’d saved me, too.

  Asher had given me the strength to do what needed to be done, no matter what the cost. After that, I’d attacked Jonathan and ripped out his soul, feeling it burn through me…

  Holy shit.

  I gasped as the realization hit me full on. I was in the Shadowrealm. Trapped, just as Liam had warned—my eternal punishment for breaking the natural order and banishing a soul here against his will.

  But… that didn’t make sense. If I was trapped, that meant that I’d succeeded in bringing Jonathan’s soul here. My memories might’ve been slow to return, but I was almost positive I hadn’t passed through my magical realm this time, hadn’t walked that long and twisty path to the rune gate that separated my place from the Shadowrealm. That’s how it’d happened with Travis, the man who’d killed Bean in the alley—I’d dragged his soul to the gate, intending on bringing him through. The only reason he didn’t end up banished was that Liam stepped in and helped me see it wasn’t for the best. Not that time, anyway.

  But now with Jonathan, it seemed I’d been deposited here directly. No magic realm, no rune gate, no last-minute chances to turn back.

  A new realization hit me, as frightening as it was impossible.

  It wasn’t just my soul trapped here, but all of me. Somehow, I’d physically manifested—I could feel it in the heavy weight of my steps, the press of gravity on my body, the sting of the fresh wounds on my palm.

  Jonathan’s soul, which had burned like living fire inside me from the moment I’d taken it in, was no longer with me.

  Gray…

  I jumped to my feet and spun around, certain I’d heard my name, like a whisper on the hot, acrid wind.

  “Hello?” I croaked out.

  Get out of here, Gray…

  I’d felt it that time. A presence, followed immediately by the familiar scent of strawberries-and-cream.

  “Sophie?” I asked, my heart already lifting with hope.

  Goosebumps rose on my arms, the magic inside me flaring hot. Beneath my poorly-wrapped feet, the earth warmed, steam slithering out from hundreds of tiny cracks and crevices in the rock.

  I closed my eyes, reaching out with my heart and mind and everything left inside me for any sign of Sophie, any way to connect with her.

  An image flashed through my mind—but it wasn’t my best friend. Instead, I saw a red demon with horns, a forked tail, and the dark wings of a fallen angel, hopping across a scorched patch of earth. Blood dripped from his teeth and claws, and his eyes blazed with raw hatred.

  It was the Devil card from Sophie’s tarot deck.

  My eyes snapped open, but there was nothing around me but rock and smoke.

  Move, Gray. Now…

  Quickly, I readjusted my makeshift shoes and resumed my trek along the ridge, fighting off the dizziness that threatened to overtake me. I was dehydrated, and the magic which had unlocked my memories was now buzzing impatiently through my body, seeking an outlet.

  And someone was trying to warn me. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her. Feel her.

  Faster, Gray…

  “Soph?” My cracking voice echoed.

  The only response I got was a breath of hot air, ash blowing into my eyes.

  I blinked rapidly, slowing my steps against the rapidly increasing wind. It made my eyes water, and I had to stop completely until the burning passed.

  When I opened my eyes again, two red demons stood on the path ahead of me, grinning wickedly, their sharp teeth glinting. I blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the hallucination, but the monsters only got closer.

  I wasn’t imagining them.

  I spun around in search of an escape, but another appeared on the path where I’d just come from. I stood in shocked horror as it unfurled its tattered, leathery wings. It hopped from one foot to the other, f
lames licking up from the earth wherever its cloven foot touched.

  There was nowhere to run.

  Here in the in-between, where I was cursed to spend eternity, the devil card had come to life.

  Shielding my face from the wave of heat that crested before me, I took a deep, ashy breath, calling on the magic still flickering inside me. I felt it warming inside me again, gearing up for whatever came my way, but it wasn’t enough.

  The hellish creatures had some major home-field advantage. They were fire demons, and I was pretty sure this entire realm was wrapped around a core of living flame. They seemed to be drawing power from it, their eyes glowing a bright orange-red as the flames at their feet grew hotter.

  Before this moment, the closest I’d ever come to working with fire magic was the night at the safe house when I’d scried and connected with Reva through the flames.

  I had no idea if I could wield it, but I didn’t have a choice. I needed fire.

  I closed my eyes and took a breath, envisioning my magic seeping out through my feet and into the rock below. I felt it penetrate the dense stone, working down to the molten core.

  An image of a great underground inferno appeared in my mind’s eye, and I held onto it, coaxing the flames higher as I whispered a final plea.

  Spark, smoke, fire, inferno

  Burn here above as you burn down below

  Let rock join flame and fight as one

  Hear my words, let it be done

  Heat radiated up through my legs, the fire magic joining with my own.

  It’s working!

  I channeled the magic into a burst of energy, watching it spark to life between my palms. Blue flames ignited in my hands.

  And then I braced myself for the fight from hell.

  Three

  Darius

  In thirty-three years of life as a mortal and countless more as a vampire, I had known a great many liars.

  Blood had never been one of them.

  “Gray!” I gasped as the sudden rush of heat flooded my chest, followed by the sweet, heady scent of the witch who thoroughly owned my heart. The sensations were unmistakeable—the siren call of Gray’s blood resurfacing after its days-long absence, more intense than it’d ever been before.

  It was our blood bond. Sensing her this way… I swallowed the emotion tightening my throat. It meant she was still with us. Still alive.

  I grabbed my cell phone, fumbling with the damn screen for several frustrating moments before I finally managed to punch in Ronan’s number.

  While he and Emilio were out at the Landes property hunting down clues, I’d been forced to wait out the daylight in a dank, moldering motel on the outskirts of Raven’s Cape, rendered nearly impotent by my deadly aversion to the sun. It’d been several hours and I’d yet to hear from either of them; I had to assume my connection to Gray was the first real spark of hope we’d received.

  But before the second ring on Ronan’s line, my hope died. The warmth that had buoyed my spirits only moments ago vanished just as quickly as it’d arrived, leaving a cold, hollow dread in its wake.

  Something was wrong.

  I closed my eyes and reached out for her with everything I had, following the tendrils of her scent that still lingered faintly. I could feel the rush of blood to her head. I could feel her fucking heartbeat.

  It was too fast.

  I forced myself to take another breath through my nose, my senses still hunting for more. Her presence came back stronger for a moment, but then soured. I felt things—tasted things—that simply should not have been. The surge of her magic, familiar but for a new tinge of something rotten and diseased. The sharp, knife-blade edge of her panic, followed almost at once by a flood of boundless determination. And though our blood bond did not afford me a glimpse into Gray’s thoughts, my gut—which, much like blood, had never led me astray—told me that my little brawler was embarking on a journey from which she’d likely not return.

  Ronan’s voicemail greeting announced his absence, and I forced myself not to throw my damn phone into the wall.

  Infernal damn devices!

  “Vacarro,” I barked. “Where the bloody hell are you? Kindly return my call at your earliest convenience, by which I clearly mean call me back in the next two minutes unless you want to die a painful and bloody death the likes of which your kind has not yet known.”

  I tossed the phone onto the bed and paced the depressing room. Counted the unidentifiable stains in the dingy, threadbare carpet. Left three additional voicemails and sent a dozen texts to each of their numbers, none of which were being returned.

  Bloody hell, waiting was a terrible way to pass the time.

  Where could they possibly be?

  Out of range? Stealthily tracking a potential source? In trouble?

  Concern flickered in my gut as the last possibility continued to rear its ugly head.

  I retrieved the phone.

  “You’ve got one more minute, demon,” I said, attempting to leave yet another pointless voicemail. “Or I’ll have no choice but to—”

  My warning was cut off by the flood of a new scent cresting just outside my door—adrenaline, mingled with fear and the unmistakable scent of raw male aggression. Human male aggression—the worst sort there was.

  No sooner had I darted behind a tall dresser just inside the door did the keycard reader beep, and two brawny men slipped inside my room, quietly shutting the door behind them. They were fairly nondescript, dressed in plain jeans and faded T-shirts. Each had what appeared to be a rune branded into his inner forearm, but otherwise no identifiable tattoos or markings.

  I was certain I’d never seen or scented them before. Yet they seemed to be looking for me. They’d procured a copy of my key.

  And a set of dangerously pointy hawthorn stakes.

  I had approximately eight more seconds before their eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and they turned and spotted me.

  The one who seemed to be in charge pointed at the Queen-sized bed at the center of the room, then gestured for the other to look underneath, as if they were dealing with a small child hiding from a monster.

  At this, I grinned, my anxiety somewhat loosening.

  I am the monster, you bloody imbeciles.

  I supposed I owed the legends my gratitude; of the humans who believed in our existence, many thought we slept away the daylight hours in coffins. The dark, confined space under the bed seemed like the logical choice.

  I’d be more than happy to set the record straight.

  As the boss scanned the rest of the room, his number two—younger, probably less experienced—crouched down on the far side of the bed, stake clutched menacingly in his hand, and I saw my opportunity.

  With all the strength I possessed, I shoved the tall dresser, plowing it into the boss and crushing him against the wall. I heard the crunch of bone and a deep grunt. The wet stain of his blood darkened the carpet below.

  “Fuck!” Number Two shouted, leaping to his feet. “Jerry!”

  “I’m afraid Jerry can’t respond right now,” I said. “Pity.”

  He stared at the stain on the carpet beneath the dresser. He was so disturbed by the sight, he seemed to have forgotten I was the cause of it.

  Graceful as a cat, I launched myself over the bed and into his immediate space. I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall, his feet several inches off the ground. He snapped out of his stupor and attempted to put up a fight, but his youthful scrappiness did not avail him, and I disarmed him easily.

  He was useless without his stake, offering no more than sputtering moans as I repeatedly pounded my fist into his face.

  Bones shattered. Teeth dislodged. Skin tore. Blood glistened.

  So. Much. Blood.

  In a feeble attempt to block the onslaught, he raised shaky arms. The brand on his inner arm was streaked with blood, shining darkly in the dim room.

  That rune…

  Something about it tugged at my memory, b
ut I couldn’t quite place the image. Had I seen it before? A book, perhaps? Something of Gray’s?

  I grabbed his arm and wrenched it closer for a better look.

  Something of Gray’s…

  Recognition slammed into me like a fist. I had seen it before—the night Gray and I snuck into the morgue. It was an exact match for one of the symbols carved into the flesh of Blackmoon Bay’s murdered witches.

  Carved into Gray’s best friend, Sophie.

  Gray had only seen a photograph of it, but I’d never forget the sight of her face when she’d looked up at me across that room, pale and shaken. Utterly undone by the evidence of such gruesome torture.

  I clenched my teeth, seething.

  Jerry and his number two weren’t just a pair of thugs keen on taking out an out-of-town vampire. They were witch hunters. And they knew we were here.

  They’d either seen Ronan and Emilio drop me off before dawn, or someone in the motel’s employ was connected to them. However they’d learned about my arrival in Raven’s Cape, these men had come here to execute me in my sleep, assuming I’d be an easy kill.

  My vision swam with red.

  I slammed my fist into the wall beside his head, punching a crater into the plaster and brick. Unlike his friend Jerry, this guy was still breathing, and he gasped. Barely.

  “Please,” he whispered, the broken cry of a broken man who’d already stepped one foot through hell’s gate.

  “You don’t deserve to beg, you fucking coward.”

  Some part of me—a faraway voice in my head—knew I should keep him alive for questioning. They were witch hunters, and they’d come to kill me. Likely they were connected to Jonathan, and they might’ve had information about Gray’s whereabouts.

  But the cool, rational part of me that had kept things running smoothly for decades was no more than a dim voice of protest, trapped behind a wall of red-hot rage.

  I let out a roar, my unfiltered anger mixing with the scent of his adrenaline-spiked blood to ignite something feral inside me—something I’d kept chained up for far too long.

  It was against Council law for me to take an unwilling victim. Against human law for me to kill him.