by Jenn Stark
“I’m telling you—”
“And I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” Cressida said. “But the situation was dire even before the attack on the Serbian coven. With the recent influx of the horde, there’s been a great deal more fear that he will take an active role on Earth. We cannot allow that. Ahriman isn’t the only ancient evil who has sensed the shift in the world. He is the first, however, and arguably the worst.”
“Fair enough. So how exactly does your penta-bridegroom plan come into play?”
Cressida held his gaze steadily. “The sacred grimoire of the Scepter Coven maps out a process by which Ahriman can be defeated. But it involves the collaboration of a witch and demon.”
Now it was Stefan’s eyebrows’ turn to dart up. “Collaboration? Or marriage? Because those are two very different things. We could’ve easily done without the flag football team if you were simply looking for a few good demons to back you up. I know a couple who owe me.”
She pursed her lips. “The grimoire was written thousands of years ago, when the relationships between men and women were more open-minded.”
Stefan snorted. “Yeah, because the Bronze Age was known for its tolerance.”
“Nevertheless, the grimoire states that the demon must be the witch’s consort. It assumes a great deal about the nature of that relationship, but does not codify it. All that’s required is that I’m able to tap the strength of a demon stronger than I am. I wasn’t willing to do that, so instead, I split the demon quotient by three, while bringing in a human and witch to cover all my bases. No one can say I didn’t do everything I could to fulfill the requirements of the grimoire.”
“You plan to get married but not put out.”
She grimaced. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Then why do you need five of us—including three demons? Because I’m stronger than you all on my own, sweetheart. You could’ve just asked me that up front.”
Her lips twitched. “I don’t need a demon at all, no matter what the writers of the sacred grimoire believe. I only need a partner of strength and ability.”
“Also covered—”
“Marcus Frost is that partner,” she said quellingly. “He’s one of the most powerful witches to exist in the covens, and he’s completely dedicated to the cause of the Scepter Coven and to me. I trust him with my life.”
Stefan eyed her, trying not to laugh in her face. “He sounds like a great guy.”
“He isn’t, however, a demon.”
That did make him laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day when that was considered a problem.”
“I didn’t make the rule, I simply have to get around it,” Cressida continued. “But to satisfy the letter of the law, again, I required not just any demon, but a demon who is stronger than I am. As I said, I wasn’t willing to go that far. But I was willing to take on three who all together were stronger than me, and then let their natural order assert itself.”
Stefan frowned. “Natural order. That’s pretty much mutual annihilation when it comes to demons.”
“As you say,” she agreed. “Then Marcus and a Connected could round out the retinue, in case there were any…complications.”
“Meaning in case the demons decided to work together against you instead of eating each other.”
She nodded, and Stefan blew out a long breath. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got everything figured out except one small issue, princess.”
“What’s that?”
He winked at her. “I’m one of your consorts. And I’m a hands-on kinda guy.”
She jerked back, exactly as he expected she would, but he didn’t miss the flare of heat that passed across her face. “I told you. Your services in that regard are not required.”
“And I’m telling you, you might want to rethink that.” Stefan didn’t know why he was laying it on so thick, only that he felt an impossible need to have this woman in his arms. In his arms—and in his bed. And since Cressida had by now fully dropped her compulsion spell on him, this desire was all him. “There’s got to be a reason for a demon-witch coupling that goes beyond a simple power exchange; otherwise, your little spell book wouldn’t have been so insistent. What if your power jacks up when you, you know, get jacked up?”
Cressida’s delicate brows snapped together so quickly, he knew he struck a nerve, though he wasn’t sure which one. While he had the basics of the coven’s history down, his modern witch education was woefully lacking. “It does, doesn’t it?” he pressed. “You’re stronger when you’ve—”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Cressida cut him off. Then she moved so quickly, he couldn’t react in time. The spell she called down upon him was most assuredly not the work of a single witch, but an amalgam of several sorceresses’ power, all condensed in a single archaic line. It was a great and powerful force.
But his need was great and powerful too.
Stefan lurched toward Cressida, driven by a hunger he couldn’t quite define, but by the time her first word reached him, her beautiful voice desperate and stressed, he could already feel the tug on his body, his lungs. By the second word, he’d lifted his hands to her face, while fireworks shot across his vision and his head swam with dizziness. Still he fought through it, leaning close, his lips brushing hers as she breathed the third word—
And he blacked out.
Chapter Seven
“Why did you tell him so much?” Dahlia demanded, her nimble fingers affixing the triple-moon headpiece to Cressida’s hair. “He’s not your ally in this battle, he’s a demon. His primary goal in life is to deceive and destroy anything human.”
Cressida slanted a glance to her captain, watching her in the elegant mirror. She could still feel the demon’s mouth on hers, and she knew in her bones he’d kissed her not once, but twice—both in her apartment and before, when time had seemed to stop in the corridors stretching away from Storm Court. He’d kissed her. And then he’d wanted to kiss her again, so fiercely that he’d battled through one of her strongest spells to do it.
Now her emotions were completely in chaos, a state that hadn’t been helped when Marcus had swooped into her apartments like an avenging angel and whisked Stefan away. Cressida had been so overwhelmed with need, her lips burning from the demon’s touch, that she hadn’t trusted herself to look at Marcus, let alone talk to him.
This was all his fault! If her prime consort had actually behaved like the red-blooded male she knew him to be, Cressida wouldn’t have been so tempted by Stefan, wouldn’t have been so desperate for his mouth on hers, his hands, his—
“Um, Cressida?” Dahlia prompted, her tone concerned.
Cressida yanked her fingers away from her mouth, which tingled from Stefan’s kiss. “He’s a Syx, not an ordinary demon,” she countered. “I presume that makes him different.”
“Not different enough.” Dahlia stepped back from Cressida, surveying her critically. “With all your hair, we need more pins to hold your crown in place. And maybe some tape to keep your mouth closed too.”
Cressida snorted. “If you’re going to ply me with tape, use it to keep this dress closed.”
The tiara and scepter were the two royal pieces that denoted rulership of the coven, and neither was particularly delicate or feminine for all that they were usually carried by women. But the rest of Cressida’s outfit made up for that. In a dictate presumably written by a teenaged boy one ancient winter’s night, the sacred grimoire had prescribed that the high priestess who would stand against Ahriman must go to her consort wearing a long, flowing robe open from the neck to waist and floor to thigh. There was very little way to get around that decree, even with the most enlightened of modern dressmakers, and Cressida’s gown fit the bill. Made of white silk, it lay gracefully against her skin, with long sleeves, a high collar, and a neckline that plunged all the way to her abdomen. The edges of the neckline were held in place on her torso with body tape, but the entire upper part
of the gown looked like it might slip free at any time.
The lower part of the dress was little better. Two thigh-high slits bisected the floor-length white skirt and would have revealed more leg except for the thigh-high boots Cressida had chosen to wear, bypassing high heels or, even worse, going without shoes altogether, which was typically expected of witches during high ceremonies. She’d be dancing with demons tonight—she wouldn’t be doing that in bare feet.
Speaking of demons… “What have you discovered about the consorts?” she asked. “What can I use?”
Dahlia transitioned easily back into her role as captain, a role much better suited to her than that of royal handmaid. “Boltar has never been summoned by a coven, but he’s done most of his work on this earth as a summoned demon, bent to the service of warring factions primarily in the Middle East since the earliest wars tore through those countries. He’s consumed with battle lust and hasn’t lacked for work. He responded to your summons so quickly because he was on a private security detail of one of the Saudi entourages in the city.”
“Will he be missed?”
“He’s already been missed, but the current thinking is that he was killed or kidnapped by a rival faction. No one will work too hard to find him, lest they draw attention to the fact that their security was so well and truly breached, but there will be eyes out. He can’t be seen until the battle with Ahriman is finished, or we’ll have more attention than we wish.” Dahlia watched her in the mirror. “If the Syx could dispatch him to the other side of the veil once our need for him is through, that would also suffice.”
Cressida nodded. In theory, she could compel any of the demons to destroy the others, but playing that would be complicated. The most obvious approach would be to demand Stefan do the deed. However, he’d already proven prone to zig when she needed him to zag. She couldn’t allow that in the crush of battle. “What about Zeneschiah?”
“We have nothing new on him. The best we can tell, he’s never walked the Earth, at least not at the behest of mortal summoning, and he may or may not be a seneschal of Ahriman, as the elderly lawgiver suspects. He came because you summoned him, nothing more. He’s made no attempt to breach the bonds of the wards, no attempt to reach his master, no attempt to do much of anything other than stay doped to the gills. He’s upright, but still juiced with a barbiturate concoction that has left him…remarkably relaxed. I would warn you that his abilities as a deceiver are likely quite strong, if he’s even remotely in service to Ahriman.”
“A spy in our midst,” Cressida said, frowning. “That feels like something we may be able to turn to our advantage when the time comes.”
“When the time comes, he could serve as the beacon for Ahriman to follow. The lawgivers are adamant that the great demon already knows you are preparing for the battle, so it may amuse him to have Zeneschiah planted here. But as far as we can tell, the demon hasn’t reported anything to his master.”
“There’s nothing to report. He’s done nothing but get captured and get high.”
“As far as we know, yes,” Dalia agreed. “Meanwhile, the Syx has been transferred to his new quarters.”
Cressida looked at her sharply. “What new quarters?”
Dahlia’s brows went up, and she pursed her lips briefly. “Marcus said you ordered the transfer of the demon to the upper floors of your domain, specifically to the chamber next to his. He’s reallocated his own security detail to enforce the wards on the room, ensuring the Syx doesn’t leave.”
“I made no such order.”
“I didn’t object,” Dahlia said frankly. “We don’t have the power to keep the Syx held if he doesn’t want to be, but Marcus seemed to have a plan in place, and so far, that plan is working.”
Cressida frowned. If what Dahlia was saying was true, then she should welcome Marcus’s intervention and not react as if it was actually interference. But it felt like interference all the same. Granted, she wouldn’t need private access to the Syx. Their relationship was a sham, the installation of Stefan as a member of her retinue merely part of the farce, and the battle with Ahriman was set to occur within a few short days, when the moon was full. She wouldn’t need Stefan for more than window dressing to convince the coven she was playing by the rules of the sacred grimoire, and yet…
It still felt like interference.
“Marcus is not yet my wedded consort,” she said coolly. Even to Dahlia, she wanted to project that she was in control. Never mind that with each passing moment, she doubted that control more. But Dahlia was more than her friend, she was a member of the coven that Cressida needed to lead. To protect. She owed this coven her life, and she could never falter in her service…ever. “He presumes too much.”
“He is your head of security,” Dahlia countered. “He presumes exactly the right amount.”
Then again, Dahlia could also be a pain in the ass when she wanted to be.
Irritation flared deep in Cressida’s belly, right around where the vee of her neckline finally stopped. “You believe he’s acting in his role of security and not in the guise of my future husband?”
“If he’s smart, he’s doing both. There’s no denying the alluring glamour of the Syx, and you’ve never lain with a man.”
Cressida stared at her. “Dahlia.”
“I knew it,” her captain retorted. “But you play a dangerous game, Cressida. You should have consummated your relationship already. Go to him.”
“I tried.” Cressida slapped her hand over her mouth, but she was too late to recall the words. Dahlia froze in place, staring at her.
“What are you talking about?” she whispered, as if Cressida had just revealed that Marcus had beaten her with chains. “He rejected you?”
Heat flooded Cressida’s cheeks. “This is impossible.” She whirled and stalked away a few steps, her cape flaring around her. She clenched her hands into fists, but there was no denying her need to tell someone, anyone, other than Fraya. The head lawgiver had seemed supremely unconcerned about her trouble with Marcus, but Cressida was the high priestess. She was endangering the entire coven by not completing these rites.
She drew in a shaky breath. “I first went to Marcus two months ago. There were already rumors of Ahriman stirring, though nothing concrete. I…I was coy. Flirtatious. Or I thought I was.” She grimaced, reliving the shame of that first time. “He looked at me like I was insane, until he realized what I was about. Then he was, ah, kind, I’d guess you’d say.”
“Kind.” Dahlia’s tone was neutral, and Cressida winced. She knew how ridiculous this all sounded.
“He truly didn’t seem against the idea, but he said it wasn’t the right time. That he would come to me when it was. He made me feel like I’d overstepped my bounds.”
“Overstepped your…” Dahlia’s words were less neutral this time, and Cressida glanced back to see her captain had moved several steps closer to her. “This is Marcus Frost we’re talking about here. He rejected your sexual advances. The advances of a future high priestess.”
Cressida gritted her teeth. “I think I’ve made that clear enough—”
“That doesn’t make sense, though. His abilities would be augmented too—and that witch would dry-hump a dog if it would get him to the next level.”
“I know.” Another wave of embarrassment crashed over Cressida. Marcus had made no secret of his interest in the sexual path to the mastery of his magic. Which rendered his rejection of her that much more acute. “I eventually pressed him on that very point.”
“And what did he say?”
“By then, he…had become less kind,” Cressida said hollowly. She didn’t know what was worse, her own mortification or Dahlia’s pity and concern. “He informed me that he’d already achieved the levels opened by sexual gratification, that he could choose his partners by choice and not necessity.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not. I thought he must be in a relationship, and challeng
ed him on that score as well, but he made it very clear. He was my consecrated consort, approved by coven leadership. That would go forward. He simply wouldn’t sleep with me until—I guess until it was required of him after our wedding.”
“But you can’t marry him, Cressida, not after he did something so—”
“Can’t I?” Cressida’s voice was harsh as she turned back to Dahlia. “He’s the strongest witch in our coven. He’s been blessed by the Goddess. And he’s the key to this ridiculous retinue I’ve been forced to assemble to ensure I have the support of the coven in confronting Ahriman. No one knows that I haven’t had sex—they assume I have. They assume I’m at the height of my power. I can’t afford doubt to creep in about me. Not now.”
“But if you marry him…you’re bound for life. There’s no getting away from him.”
“I’m aware of that. And he would be bound too. I even offered to complete the marriage ceremony immediately, before the attack of Ahriman, and he said no to that as well. I think…” She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think anymore. Other than I’m not at my strongest because I’m somehow not appealing to the most sexually promiscuous witch in the entire coven. You can imagine I’m not feeling really good about that.”
“I’d throat-punch him,” Dahlia agreed, and her tone had shifted again, this time to wariness. “There has to be a reason he’s doing this—or not doing this, rather.”
Cressida sighed. “If there is, I can’t find it. His powers would be augmented with our union—it’s what I kept holding on to, in the beginning. That surely the promise of power would trump any physical distaste. But he seems to have found some other path—yet he continues to act as if he’s my fated consort. I can’t exactly approach another man within the coven—”
“No one would dare touch you,” Dahlia muttered. “So what’s Marcus’s game?”
Cressida blew out a long breath. “Whatever it is, I have to keep on playing it. I need his help, especially since we’ve captured the demons. I can’t control them without his strength—at least not all of them at once—and I can’t release them until we’ve confronted Ahriman.”
