Making promises, making deals; they suggested weakness. But Erion could relate to the need this male had to see his line continue. As it was, they were both concerned fathers. He nodded. “I give you my word.”
Raine’s eyes closed and he released a weighty breath. “Believe it or not, I have heard he is to be mated.”
“What?” Erion roared.
The male flinched but managed to nod. “Cruen is taking a bride.”
1
“Are you listening to me, Your Highness?”
Hellen drew back her bow, aimed it at the streaking ball of pale yellow light ten feet in front of her, and let the arrow fly. She waited for impact, for the impish little rogue demon to drop, but it didn’t. It ran away, cackling.
She turned and glared at Eberny. “You must cease talking while I hunt.”
The ancient demon, a male/female hybrid, was undaunted. “You will be leaving us very soon, Your Highness. Your father has instructed me to make certain you understand your duties.”
Under the haze of auburn daylight, Hellen grabbed another arrow from her quiver and said in a dangerous voice, “My duties.”
“Indeed,” said Eberny, following Hellen as the young female demon suddenly took off, jogging along the perimeter of the Rain Fields. “How you are to conduct yourself.”
That little bastard, thought Hellen, her eyes searching for the lost rogue. Ah! There. It was ducking in and out of a cloud, grinning its toothless grin, toying with her.
With one easy movement, Hellen drew back her arrow and sent it straight for the cloud. It whizzed through the Rain Fields like a bolt of lightning.
Flash! A hit.
Hellen grinned as the rogue demon creature exploded.
“A worthy shot, Your Highness,” said Eberny in a contained voice before picking up the topic of discussion from a moment ago. “It would be wise to recall the lessons learned in the Academy. The ones dealing with a female’s obligations to her male counterpart.”
Scanning the Rain Fields for more rogues, Hellen snorted. “Unfortunately, I do not recall it. A much-needed nap was taken during that bout of instruction, I believe.”
“Your Highness, that is not at all amusing,” stated Eberny, the hybrid’s mud-brown eyes narrowing with disapproval.
Girlish laughter sounded behind them. Hellen looked up to see her two younger sisters skipping down the black-earthed hillock toward them, long, pale yellow hair at their backs and yards of fuchsia and gold skirt trailing behind. Levia and Polly looked like a painting, so demure, so female. Perfect demon royalty. While she—if not for her disagreeable red coils of hair—looked like their brother.
“Hellen, dear.”
“Pray don’t shoot at us. We come in peace.”
Each female gave her a kiss on the cheek. They smelled of fireflower, the only flower allowed to grow in the Underworld. It was rarest, picked and bottled the moment it flowered, then made into a perfume oil for the daughters of the Demon King.
Hellen preferred the scent of ashes, of the black soot beneath her feet—of the death of each rogue demon.
She was strange that way.
She had been told many times that she was named for her place of birth. But over the years she had come to wonder if her mother had known what grew inside her womb, what she would be unleashing into the Underworld. A true hellion. Had the female demon had a premonition about a fiery gust of flaming hair and a defiant disposition, then come to a quick decision about her name?
A sudden flash of light, bright blue and practically spitting off rogue energy, caught her peripheral vision, and she whirled around, grabbing for an arrow.
“Your Highness, please,” Eberny implored. “Listen to me.”
Hellen shifted the bow and arrow, following the muted blue light deep in the Rain Fields ahead. “My eyes may be on my target, Eberny, but my ears are open. What is it you think I need to know?”
“The male you are to be given to will expect certain behaviors.”
“Indeed. I spread my legs when instructed, yes?”
Behind her, Levia and Polly gasped. Hellen drew back her bow and grinned. She could practically see the girls’ wide blue eyes, their gloved hands covering their mouths. She would miss them terribly, miss their sweet ways and perpetually outraged reactions. But, then again, she was glad to be going. Her sacrifice would be their safeguard always.
Eberny’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Sexual relations are only a small part of being a submissive partner, Your Highness.”
Submissive.
Hellen’s urge to kill amplified and she narrowed her eyes on the acres upon acres of Rain Fields where the rogue demons, the excess magical energy her father, Abbadon, released within the Underworld, loved to hide.
“Do not look him in the eyes when he speaks to you,” Eberny continued.
“Where shall I look, then?” Hellen asked with an emotionless tone. “Between his legs?”
Again, her sisters gasped. “Oh, Hellen, you are wicked,” said Levia, her voice muffled through her gloved hand.
Eberny turned to them and sniffed. “She enjoys giving me pains in my head.”
Very true. Hellen chuckled and drew back an arrow, waited for the flash of blue, and sent it flying. It missed by a good ten feet. The little bastard’s subsequent cackling killed her laughter.
“If you could just be more like your sisters,” Eberny said on a sigh.
Hellen glanced back at the lovely specimens of female demon and shook her head, her gaze affectionate in the extreme. Yes, she would miss them terribly. “I know. It would be easier all round.”
Levia and Polly laughed, rushed forward, and embraced her.
“You are perfect as you are, Hellen,” Levia crooned.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Polly. “Except for the hunter attire . . . Perhaps if we had something made in a soft shade of pink—”
The mute button was pressed on Polly’s appraisal of her clothing as Hellen spotted the blue rogue staring at her through a thin layer of cloud. It grinned. Hellen’s blood heated and she gripped her bow tightly. She had been hunting demon rogues ever since she could hold a bow, and they knew how to play with her. Pure, soulless energy, they weren’t afraid to die or to be hunted. On the contrary. Abbadon’s excess magic loved risk and chase and the possibility of being extinguished.
And so did Hellen.
Sir Ugly and Blue widened his yellow eyes and made a disgusting noise at the lot of them, then took off.
Hellen smirked. “I’ll be back.”
“No, Hellen. Wait,” Levia called.
But Hellen refused to be deterred from the hunt. She raced into the Rain Fields. Drops of water as hot as ash fell from gray clouds only feet off the ground. She’d been inside the Fields hundreds of times, and knew how to maneuver through them without getting burned. Bow and arrow at the ready, she kept her quick pace, her eyes narrowing each time she lost sight of the blue flash of light.
It came as sudden as a breath; a rush of intensity, a familiar scent. Hatred and disappointment, sadness and intense power.
Hellen stopped short and dropped her weaponry. A forced and familiar action. As the bow and quiver sat in a small well of collected water, a tornado ripped through the Rain Fields and came straight for her, stopping just a foot away. The blood of excitement, of chase, that had been rushing through Hellen’s veins a moment ago turned to black ice.
He was before her.
The Devil himself.
The Demon King, Abbadon.
Hellen looked up. “Hello, Father.”
In his present state Abbadon looked the very essence of a demon. Ten feet tall, red skin pulled tight over heavy, impervious muscle, eyes the color of the clouds that only moments ago parted for him. As Hellen stared up at her sire, she saw nothing of herself in him and yet knew that she of all the siste
rs was the most like him.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a voice unworldly and growlingly low.
Unlike her sisters, Hellen felt no fear when standing in her father’s presence. Only a desperation within her mind to be cautious and thoughtful with the words that came out of her mouth.
“Preparing myself for wedded bliss.”
His scaly-skinned eyebrow lifted. “With a crossbow?”
“Perhaps this male you have sold me to will appreciate my hunting skills.”
There was a flicker in his gaze, a momentary flash of fury, but he contained it. “I allow you to hunt the rogue demons for me because, frankly, you are a far superior shot to any of the male hunters I possess, but it stops the moment you leave my Underworld. Do you understand?”
Hellen nodded, but her fingers flexed, ached to hold her weapon.
“You will not shame me.”
“I am rather good at it, though, Father.”
Again the flash of fury clouded his already pale eyes. “Yes,” he hissed. “But after today the consequences will be dire.”
Hellen’s muscles tensed. “Today?” She’d thought she had more time.
The Devil’s grin made the black scorched earth below her feet tremble. “The time has come, daughter. You will leave us and take your place aboveground—”
“With the bloodsucker,” Hellen finished for him, unable to restrain her acerbic tone.
Abbadon’s nostrils flared and he coiled over her like a snake. The air went silent and the rain ceased to fall. It was his attempt at intimidation. There was nothing the Demon King appreciated more than fear in his offspring. Especially from the one before him.
But Hellen remained cool under his taut, red-faced glare. This was never the way to get her to cower, get her on her knees, eyes down and shoulders trembling. Unfortunately, over the past few years Abbadon had found the way in to her fear center.
He cocked his head to one side. “Is that your sisters’ carefree laughter I hear?”
Hellen heard nothing but the deadly silence and the threat that hovered next on her father’s thin, reptilian lips.
“I will do as I am instructed,” she said in a quiet, noxious voice.
In a shock of movement and hot wind, Abbadon rushed toward her. Matching her height now, his face the color of rich, thick blood, he placed one long finger under her chin and lifted. “You had better.”
Or the two lovely demon females waiting for you on the bank of the Rain Fields will feel my true wrath, he didn’t say.
He didn’t have to say it.
Hellen pulled her chin from his sickeningly warm touch and said in a firm voice, “I will be the perfect little demon.”
Abbadon grinned and gave a wave of his hand to the fields around them. “You will be the perfect little female.”
The clouds instantly released their torrent of hot rain, sound returned to the air, and out of the corner of her eye, Hellen saw a flash of blue light.
“Now,” Abbadon said, his gaze sweeping over her. “Get back to the Dwelling. You leave within the hour, and you must be bathed, combed, dressed, and prepared.”
Prepared.
Hellen clung to the word as the Devil turned and dissolved into the hot, misty air. She had sacrificed herself, would give herself to this bloodsucker her father had sold her to, but that’s where it would end. And her most important bit of preparation would make it so.
The flash of demon blue hit her peripheral vision once more and she reached for her weapon. Without taking another breath, she stretched back the bow and released. The arrow hit the target, and Hellen reveled in her final kill as she walked out of the Rain Fields and toward her sisters for the last time.
• • •
Erion’s lip curled as beneath his feet, the earth rumbled. It was a soft, uncomplicated movement, just a hint of warning to the animals thereabouts. Flee, little ones. Get out of the way before you’re run down by an ill-fated traveling party.
And a mutore paven who would kill anything and anyone who got in his way.
As he stood there, the earth’s easy tremble intensified. Granted, he was still able to hold his ground without issue, but the manic shudder made him not only cautious, but also suspicious. Is this truly it? he mused, his fangs descending, his muscles flexing, tensing. Had Raine been truthful with this location? With the arrival of the parcel Erion had come to steal?
The bride he’d come to steal.
Cruen’s bride.
Erion’s gaze narrowed on the length of dirt road ahead. For Raine’s sake and the future the mutore wished to see, he hoped so.
Suddenly, the shudder escalated into a severe shake that reverberated up through Erion’s feet and calves to his gut, into his chest, and all the way to his jaw, making his teeth rattle inside his mouth. Around him, the trees creaked as their weight was redistributed and the birds took to the air en masse.
Erion dropped into a fighting stance and unsheathed his blade.
This is no wedding party approaching, he thought blackly, slowly rotating so he could see in every direction. This wasn’t Cruen’s bride. Couldn’t be. This was belowground, nature’s doing, inconvenient though it was, a cry of—
The thought died inside his mind as a massive shudder nearly sent him to his knees. Before him the earth cracked, one long seam, splitting apart with a jarring lurch. Christ! Erion jumped back as the plaintive wail of breaking rock and shifting plates stole the forest’s air. An earthquake—had to be. He was on California land, after all.
A few feet away, a mega blast of dirt shot into the air, raining down sharp, black pellets onto his face and body. He should flash. Get out of this particular line of fire. Return to France and demand a new location from Raine. Or maybe a strip of flesh from the male’s lying hide.
He was on his way, his cells nearly transferred, when suddenly from inside the dust geyser came a wail, a shriek so intense Erion felt it deep within his bones. Like a wave crashing against the shore, he heard it again and again. The sound boomed through the forest, pinging against the battered trees, then slamming back into Erion’s ears. He shook his head, attempting to clear the sound. As he did, his gaze caught on the crack in the earth. In the very center, where the sound seemed to emanate from. Though any sane paven would’ve gotten the hell out of there at that point, Erion drew closer. He couldn’t help himself. He saw something.
But what? What the hell was it?
His blood pounded in his veins, every muscle inside him tense and ready.
Then he saw it fully, saw them fully: two horses, pale as paper, with see-through skin, emerging from the ground. They were snorting and sighing as they pulled something, their hooves scrabbling for purchase on the crumbling rock face.
Steeled and ready for a fight, Erion stared, unblinking at the scene before him, nearly thinking himself mad as a gleaming, bride-white, pumpkin-shaped carriage crawled out of the hole in the earth, legs moving like a gigantic white spider.
Erion’s mind squeezed.
No.
Impossible. Perhaps even insane. This couldn’t be Cruen’s bride. Inside this Cinderella carriage from hell?
As the ghostly team cleared the split in the earth and found solid ground, the carriage came to a halt. One of the horses turned its head and eyed Erion. Its nostrils flared in warning as it pawed the ground.
Erion’s hand tightened around his blade, and in that moment he remembered what he was doing there.
Whom he came to steal—and why.
As if they sensed it too, the transparent beasts shifted their gazes and took off, bolting into the now-still woods, dirt kicking up around them.
Erion exploded forward, his blood fueling his pace. This female, whatever she was, belonged to him. She was his bargaining chip—the ransom he would keep at his side until Ladd was returned. Returned to the ones who k
new how to love.
He ran through the black, cool woods, keeping pace with the carriage until it burst forth into an open field. Moonlight poured down overhead, spread its ethereal shards out over the overgrown expanse.
No farther, my lady.
In a burst of speed, Erion shot forward, made a quick right, and stopped dead in front of the horses. The beasts screamed as they came to a halt, rearing up, nearly braining him with their massive hooves. The demon inside Erion pulsed to get out, tame what was snorting and hissing in front of him, muzzle what was letting loose a cacophony of terrified screams inside the bride-white carriage.
He smiled grimly. The terror was only beginning for his parcel.
He leaped onto the footrest near the carriage door and gripped the handle. A flexible wall of dark magic pushed at him, tried to buck him off, tried to convince his mind that he was seeing a mirage, but Erion mentally shoved back at the sensation and yanked at the door.
It wouldn’t budge.
Not a problem. He enjoyed tearing the gift wrap off a parcel.
Reaching up, he grabbed the metal bar on the roof of the carriage, swung back, and crashed his feet into the door. It went down with a thud. Another feminine scream pierced the night air, and the horses panicked and took off again, barreling across the field. Erion’s gaze was razor sharp now, but all he saw was a red blur with electric green eyes before he was hit in the chest and thrown backward.
He landed on the ground with a teeth-shattering slam, something fierce and flooded with layers of skirt on top of him. He heard the horses scream and snort, saw out of his peripheral vision the coach clattering past, abandoning the meadow for the dark woods beyond.
The Layers of Skirt spoke. “Before I kill you, I want to know just who the hell you are!”
Wet grass and cold earth at his back, Erion’s brows descended over his narrowed gaze. The female sat astride him, had his arms pinned at his sides as though she were under the impression she had some kind of control in the situation. In truth, he could not only flick her off like a bothersome fly, but stretch her arms over her head and slit her throat with one fang, all in under a breath. But then he wouldn’t be able to feel her weight atop him. So for a moment he let her remain where she was.
Eternal Demon: Mark of the Vampire Page 2
