by Ella M. Lee
El wasn’t afraid of him. She didn’t shift forms. She didn’t try to escape his grasp, instead lifting her eyes to meet his. Slowly, she reached up to touch his cheek. She spoke, and the foreign words were low and comforting, meant only for his ears.
He tensed, his wings flaring out almost to their full span. The feathery ends were inches from me, and I slid away carefully, not wanting to give Ren any reason to think I’d attack them. After a moment, he folded them in. He said a few harsh words to his sister and loosened his grip on her.
I watched the encounter in stunned silence. Rule one in fights between vampires: Don’t draw attention to yourself. It was tempting to run, until you realized that running got you noticed by creatures who could run a hundred times faster than you. Better to wait it out. If you were lucky, your master would protect you. If you weren’t…well, maybe death was its own sort of luck. I didn’t think patient Ren would harm me in a fight with his sister, but whatever was between them was not my business.
He stood, his demi-form fading, leaving him in a torn T-shirt, shredded where his wings had gone through the thin fabric. “Get out,” he said to his sister, not looking at her. “This has nothing to do with you.”
She stood and said a single word. It was a soft word, familiar and intimate. His chin lifted in recognition, even though he still wasn’t looking at her.
His name. She’d spoken Ren’s true name.
But he just said, “Go.” His tone left no room for arguments.
Her wide eyes went to me, and she raised her brows and offered a slight tilt of her head. Good luck, the gesture said, sarcastic and taunting.
She swept down the hall out of sight, and the apartment door opened and shut, all while I stood frozen and Ren panted as though he’d run ten miles in the past few minutes.
I didn’t move, and Ren didn’t look at me. In fact, he turned his back to me, studying the bright sky. He pulled his torn T-shirt over his head and flung it to the ground.
I flinched at the powerful, angry gesture.
On his pale back, down the column of his spine and disappearing into the waistband of his pants, was a pattern of dark ink. It looked like writing interspersed with those complex circles I’d seen in his book last night. The design was elegant, but also sharp and brutal.
The apartment was so silent that I could hear his still-elevated breathing.
No one would blame me if I fled, if I retreated to the relative safety of my bedroom and let him calm down. I shivered, imagining how quickly I could be the one pinned under him, gasping for air under his curled talons, engulfed in the shadows that clung to him.
Staring into black eyes.
A prince.
The demon before me was a prince.
Had vampires stolen the idea of having royalty from their erstwhile parents, Ren’s demon kind? And could I take what I knew of vampire royalty and apply it here? Was Ren also stronger than others of his kind? Was he older? Was he closer to their essence?
He was younger than El. Were they in competition? Was he in line to be king because he was male? I stalled my train of thought, not sure I could apply any vampire or human logic and history to demon society.
Leave him alone. Flee. Go, the rational part of me cried. Hide.
But I was about to try to do some negotiating, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to start that from a place of weakness. I’d never needed to guess how to deal with a vampire—they always made it very clear that they weren’t interested in trades. They were only interested in taking. But Ren liked trades, so maybe if he needed something from me, I could trade for it. Maybe improve my situation.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Cautiously, I walked back to the dining room table. With a casualness I didn’t even remotely feel, I pooled myself into one of the chairs.
Ren didn’t move. His fists were clenched, his shoulders stiff and flung back. If his wings had been out, I thought they would’ve been fully extended, regal and imposing. It occurred to me that Ren shifted his shoulders a lot, even in human form. It made sense—he was probably used to conveying his feelings with his wings.
Those shadows still fell off him like smoke or rain, and his anger was palpable.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs nervously. I needed to show strength here, even if it took all the courage in the world.
“So, she seems nice,” I said, the words not very confident at all. Ren was usually playful, and I was hoping I could lighten his mood with a joke.
Ren froze. His chest stopped heaving. The last bits of shadow that still clung to him disappeared.
“Your, um, tattoo is pretty,” I went on. “What does it say?”
Come on, give me something to work with here. I needed to know if I was doing the right thing.
He spun to face me. For a moment, anger clung to his expression, his mouth still set into a harsh frown. I drew back, pressing myself into the back of my chair. It would only take him a moment to crush me into dust if he wanted.
But his gaze swept over me and softened, and his whole stance relaxed. His eyes cleared into jungle green. He held up a finger, signaling for me to wait, and stalked off down the hall. When he returned, he’d replaced his t-shirt. He calmly took the seat across from me.
“Your tattoo?” I prompted, my fingers locked together painfully hard. I desperately wanted him to speak.
“It’s the binding spell that holds me in this form when I’m in the Mortal Realm.” His words were soft and purring, and I let out the tight breath I’d been holding. “It’s an anchor, a fingerprint. Something to remind me what shape to take when I switch forms.”
I swallowed, feeling lightheaded as the adrenaline drained from me. “So every Baphometic Demon has one?”
“Only the few of us who travel between realms, where our magic behaves differently,” he said.
I didn’t like the loss of focus in his vacant and distant eyes.
“You almost hit me with your wing earlier,” I went on. “Where was all that fierce protectiveness over them?”
The glimmer of a smile crossed his face. “I can attack with them. There’s a difference between my own actions and the actions of others. You might choose to hit me with your fist, but would you trust me to lace my fingers through yours?”
I thought of how easily he’d broken Jenna’s fingers the night before and frowned. Just to see his reaction, I said, “Yes.”
He tilted his head. “Maybe you’re braver than I am.”
“I doubt that.” I sighed. “I’ve never been brave, even before all this, and the vampires only made it worse. It’s easy to tell yourself you’d be strong in the face of danger or death, but it didn’t work out that way for me. A human can’t stand up to vampires. I was just trapped.”
Ren didn’t move, but his expression was now thoughtful and intrigued, his eyes wide and round. “You can be free and also trapped,” he said. “That is how I feel. Royalty is a trap. My life is a trap.”
I didn’t think it compared to being a vampire’s pet, but I could understand how responsibility might make him feel trapped. I would’ve probably felt that way if I’d gotten to be a normal teenager. All the things that the adult world brought—college, a job, big decisions—all felt like traps compared to watching Netflix and lounging on the beach and texting friends.
“You came here, to this world, to hide?” I was on very, very dangerous ground.
“No,” he said. “I’m looking for something, as I told you. I don’t entirely blame my sister for her interpretation of my actions, but she is wrong. She is wrong about my motives, she is wrong about what she thinks she understands, and she is wrong about what will happen.”
I waited again, watching as he shifted, his shoulders finally fully relaxing. He rested his head in his hands for a moment and closed his eyes.
Finally, he let his gaze fall back on me. “There is a lot to explain, and it’s all important, because your path is now tied to mine.” Ren nodded toward the hallway. “Put on your s
hoes. We’re going out.”
Chapter 16
I only had a minute to register my surprise before Ren hurried us out the door. Once again, I found myself in his fancy SUV, daylight pouring into the vehicle despite the tinted windows, so bright that I needed to shield my eyes. Day felt uncomfortable to me now, as awful as that was.
Ren drove for about an hour, eventually taking us off the main road and onto smaller and smaller side roads, until we finally ended up at a trailhead at the edge of a forest.
“Where are we going?” I asked, finally finding my courage. I hoped he wasn’t bringing me out here to murder me and hide the body.
“I want to show you something. To help me explain.”
I started toward the trail, but Ren caught my arm, drawing me away. He led us into the thick of the trees, walking with purpose in a completely random direction. To my dismay, this wasn’t an easy hike. The forest was thick and littered with low-hanging branches, spiky bushes, and fallen logs. The ground was hard but uneven. I thrust my hands into the pockets of my blue wool coat—supplied by Ren—to keep warm. It was a mild day, but still winter, with a hint of cold wind and dampness.
Ren, dressed only in dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that hugged his broad shoulders, didn’t seem to mind the weather.
“How far are we going?” I asked after fifteen or twenty minutes, sick of dodging foliage that threatened to take one of my eyes out.
He glanced back at me, his expression playful. “Not too much farther. Would you like me to carry you?”
I rolled my eyes to hide my discomfort. Ren was nice enough—for now—but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be that close to him, trapped in his arms.
“It’s going to be dark by the time we get back to the car,” I griped.
This statement earned me another playful glance. “Ari, I can keep you safe in the dark.”
“Yeah, but can you keep me warm?” I asked.
He stopped walking. “Are you cold?” His eyes wandered over me curiously, as though he would be able to see those symptoms with his own eyes.
“A little,” I confessed.
He stalked back to me, stopping in front of me. He placed a palm on each of my shoulders, running his hands down my arms and back up then over my back. His magic pulsed out of him, making me shiver uncomfortably. But as his hands moved, warmth bloomed under them, suffusing over the fabric and into my skin. I found myself momentarily worried he’d heat me too much, but the magic stopped at a comfortable level.
“This will wear off eventually,” he said. “Tell me if you get cold again, and I can renew it.”
I looked away from his concerned eyes. No one had cared about my comfort in a year, yet this wasn’t the first time Ren had done something nice for me without being asked.
I’d begged Franklin for even the most basic things, and he often denied them to me anyway. Ren’s surprising kindness baffled and disarmed me.
My shoulders relaxed into the magical warmth as we started on our way again. Eventually, Ren stopped at a rock wall, about thirty feet high, set into the side of a small hill. The rock’s sandy color was pale, and the exterior was worn down with age. Ropy vines and a couple of small saplings lined the wall, and Ren walked the length of it, ripping them away as though they were as insignificant as cobwebs.
Finally, he pressed his palms to the wall and power ripped out of him, shattering a person-sized hole in the rock. Behind it was gaping darkness.
Ren looked back at me and extended a hand. “Come on.”
I stared at the inky blackness. The daylight was dying quickly, but it still felt safer than the dark. It frightened me. Anything could be in it. Rats. Spiders. Bears. Vampires. Okay, there probably weren’t any vampires in Ren’s secret rock wall cave thing, but a year living in their darkness had ruined it for me—possibly forever.
Ren watched me with a mixture of confusion and concern.
“What’s in there?” I asked.
He smiled. “Art.”
Art? What the hell?
“It’s dark. How will we see art?”
His smile widened. “I’ll make fire.” He beckoned. “Come, Ari. There’s no need to be afraid of the dark anymore. I will keep you safe until you can keep yourself safe.”
I took a deep breath and made my feet move, one step at a time, toward him. When I got to the makeshift entrance, Ren put his hands on my shoulders and guided me in. My heart raced as I strained to see anything in the darkness, but all I found were shadows within shadows, barely lit from the twilight outside. I couldn’t even tell how large the space was.
Ren removed his hands from me. I spun around, looking for him, suddenly terrified that he’d leave me here. He could wall up the rock behind me, and I would die alone in the dark. My panic subsided as I saw that he’d followed me in.
“Stand still for a minute, Ari.” He was using my name to reassure me, saying it like you might to a child.
“How can you see?” I whispered as he moved around in the darkness, his clothes rustling with each step.
“My eyesight is better in the dark than yours. The light in my realm is different.”
I jumped as a torch on the wall sparked to life. Then another. And another.
Ren moved around the edges of the room, lighting a dozen or so, until the whole space was lit. I stood in the center of a circular room, roughly twenty-five feet in diameter, with perfectly smooth stone walls.
And on the walls…
Drawings. Paintings. Sketches. Charcoal figures. Some small, some large, some detailed, some not. It was as though I stood in a gallery, but not a human one. All the figures on the wall were Baphometic Demons. All the landscapes strange and alien.
“What is this?” I asked as my eyes adjusted and more and more details fell into place. “Did you make it all?”
Ren nodded. He stood in front of the largest of the paintings, a battle scene where the figures dwarfed even his large frame. “I carved out the space, and I come here sometimes. When I fill the walls, I remove the paint and start over with a blank canvas.”
“Why are you showing me this?” I asked.
“Because…” He hesitated. “Because I thought pictures might say more than words. You said you like art. I am trying to speak your language.”
And appeal to my emotions. He knew what he was doing. He may’ve feigned ignorance of human culture—hell, he might be ignorant of most of it—but he’d clearly picked up enough to know where to apply the manipulation.
Taking me outside. Being kind to me. Showing me something important to himself. Letting me connect with him and his world. He wanted me to like and trust him, and it was sort of working.
“So…is there a story here?” I asked, stepping closer to the walls.
The art was striking. Angular, long lines sketched the form of demons and weapons, pigmented with blacks and whites and bronzes, accented with bright blues and greens and purples for magic and armor. The landscapes were vaguely red and orange, with the shapes of mountains and deserts and plants, the likes of which I’d never seen before. Some of the art was almost formless—words or designs or the barest outlines of buildings.
“There are many stories here.” Ren’s tone was soft and inviting, his hands tucked behind his back as he watched me. His eyes flickered like the torchlight, and I had a sneaking suspicion that fire lit his world, not electricity.
My gaze fell on a scene to my left. It was a tumultuous ocean at night, drawn in blacks and grays with a smattering of navy blue. Beyond it, miles in the distance, was the tiny form of a stone building on a hill. It looked like the Parthenon, with white columns and an ornate roof. It was impossible to tell the scale, but I got the sense the ocean was vast and the building huge.
“Where is this?” I asked, pointing. Its loneliness and air of ancient splendor captivated me.
Ren stepped forward. He spoke a guttural, two-syllable word in Baphometic, making me jump at the strange sound. “The royal palace,” he said. “As seen fr
om very far away.”
“You live there?” In that imposing place?
“Sometimes.” His tone sounded disinterested. He’d barely glanced at the image.
“Did you paint this scene from memory?” I asked.
“Of course. I painted all of these from memory. They are things I’ve seen and done.”
My gaze flicked around the room. Battles. Banquets. Alien landscapes. Portraits of demons—although none of them were Ren himself, at least as far as I could tell. This was his life, and it was so different from mine.
“You’ve been in battle?” I asked.
“Yes, several times. I am a prince.” He said this as though it should’ve been obvious that all princes end up in battles. Maybe in his world, they did.
“I thought you were young.”
“I am,” he said. “Young and powerful. My family needs me to defend them.”
“Family,” I echoed, my eyes still fixed on the walls.
Ren cleared his throat. “There is a ruling family for the Baphometic Demons in the Shorn Realm. I’m part of it.”
He pointed to the far wall, where the image of two demons sitting side-by-side on dark thrones filled space. The male had a square jaw and inky wings that looked like Ren’s, his stare cold and assessing. The female’s wings were gray and tipped in white, her head slightly tilted, her expression more playful. “My father and mother are the king and queen of our people.”
Those were the demons who’d birthed Ren. I turned to study his features, to match his to theirs, before forgetting that his human form wasn’t who he truly was. He smiled as though he understood my mistake.
“I’m one among five sons and three daughters. My sister El is the oldest. I’m the second oldest. Ascension to the throne is not straightforward in my world. It isn’t wholly dictated by gender, or birth order, or leadership ability, because those things don’t entirely matter. Any of the eight of us could rule, if the right circumstances were to happen. However, El and I both have the strongest claims to the throne for a number of reasons, like the followings of various factions of our people, our ideals, our magic, our ages, and our names.”
