Touch of the Demon

Chapter 12

The mug of chak in my hands steamed in the chill morning air as I stepped out onto the balcony. A chaise lounge upholstered in maroon velvet nestled against the wall, along with a small table of the same dark red wood as my wardrobe. Large stone pots in the corners of the balcony held trees at least ten feet tall with gracefully draping limbs and blue-green leaves as large as my hand. Smaller planters along the wall contained a variety of purple and yellow flowers of varying hues. A gentle scent drifted around me, like vanilla and roses, and I couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure at the entire effect, despite being weirded out by everything else going on.

Wards and sigils flickered along the edge of the railing, and I cautiously extended my hand past them. Beyond the parapet frigid air touched my hand, which told me that at least some of the wards were there for climate control. My hand didn’t meet any resistance, so apparently none of the wards were meant to contain me. Then again, the three-story drop was probably sufficient for that purpose. I didn’t bother trying to get a better look at the wards. With the collar on it was too difficult to see any details, and I knew it would only leave me frustrated and annoyed.

I gazed out toward the grove while I did my best to parse the uneasiness that plagued me. Smaller trees, leafless for winter, clustered around the white trunks of the grove which were crowned in vibrant green and purple leaves as though on a midsummer day. Little bat-bird things fluttered through the canopy, their cries melodically sharp. Craggy, snow-covered mountains rose close beyond—steep and austere, with a beauty of their own, and distinctly different from Mzatal’s green realm. To the right, cliffs fell away to a turquoise sea.

I wasn’t a prisoner. At least I didn’t seem to be one. Not only were my rooms beyond awesome, there’d been enough clothing ready and waiting for me in the large wardrobe—including the fluffy robe and slippers I had on now—to lend plenty of credence to Rhyzkahl’s claim that he’d fully expected to retrieve me.

Yet I still had this fucking collar on.

Maybe my problem was that too much had happened too fast? I’d been in the demon realm for less than three full days, and I’d spent most of that time in a constant state of stress and fear—when I wasn’t injured, passed out, or asleep, that is. I haven’t had a moment to think, I realized. And even here, where I’d thought I’d be safe, I remained unsettled.

I knew it was the right decision to escape, to come here. It was pretty obvious I needed to get the hell away from Mzatal, and besides, where else would I go? This was an alien world, likely teeming with all sorts of unknown perils. Going anywhere else would be complete and utter stupidity. And I was Rhyzkahl’s sworn summoner. This was the most logical place to seek help and sanctuary. Yet, as much as I understood the reasoning behind the way Rhyzkahl treated me last night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something felt off. Then again, I also accepted that my entire state of mind these past few days was pretty much a mess. I didn’t know what the hell to feel or believe anymore.

I need some time to think. That’s all. In a perfect world I could go spend a few quiet hours in the middle of nowhere with no one around—no humans, no demons, no lords—where I could think about everything that had happened without any fear of distraction, or worry, or concern that a lord was reading my thoughts. So far the only advantage of this damn collar was that it seemed to diminish these lords’ ability to read me, but that was a nebulous blessing at best.

The pale morning sun slanted through the brilliant colors of the grove, and a light wind stirred the trees to a soft murmur that seemed to speak a message meant only for me. A sensation of comfort and ease crept through me as I watched the mesmerizing flow of leaves.

Light. Air. Spaciousness. Peace. Deep peace.

I took a sip of the chak, surprised to find that it was cold. My bafflement increased when I realized that the sun had shifted position considerably. Apparently I’d been standing out on the balcony for a couple of hours while I contemplated the grove. So much for my plan of considering my options.

Musing on that, I finished off the cold contents of my mug and returned inside. Nearly midday now, and Rhyzkahl still hadn’t come to see me. Not that I was pining for him or anything, but it added to the overall feel of weirdness. Still, I was fully able to accept that I was neurotic enough and paranoid enough—especially now—to be blowing his absence way out of proportion. Maybe he was simply enjoying a leisurely breakfast, or working out, or sipping chak over the crossword puzzle in the demon realm newspaper. I grinned at the mental image. What’s a six letter word for ‘reyza dung’?

After a quick bath, I searched through the available clothing and scrounged up a long-sleeved shirt in a purple so rich I could hardly believe it was real and pants that were a lot like jeans but of a softer, somewhat thicker material than denim. I added a hip-length jacket, a light scarf, and knee-high boots, then checked myself out in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I grinned. Yep, I was as overdressed for the cold as any southerner had a right to be.

I exited my rooms and saw a reyza crouched in the corridor tracing wards and sending them off to places along the hall. He turned his head to me as I exited and bared his teeth in a smile.

“Kehlirik!” I nearly squealed, barely restraining myself from leaping on him and giving him a big hug. I really wasn’t sure how he’d react to that, even though it was a weird and huge relief to see a familiar face—even a demon one.

He gave a rumble-snort. “Kara Gillian.”

“It’s really good to see you,” I said fervently. “I was going to take a walk outside. Are you, um, assigned to me?”

He stood, stretched his wings out before settling them again. “Kri…yes. Your escort.” He began to walk down the corridor. “Outside is this way.”

Well, at least he wasn’t calling himself my guard. I fell into step beside him. “I owe you popcorn. I haven’t forgotten.”

“You may rest assured, summoner, I will not allow you to forget.”

I laughed. “I’m sure you won’t. And when I get back home I’ll have to summon you so that you can see a TV show a friend turned me on to.”

Kehlirik gave a heavy snort. “I am not certain of the wisdom of engaging in this tee vee practice.”

“Yeah, it totally rots the brain.” Then I gave him a sly grin. “I won’t make you watch reality TV, but did you know the Harry Potter books have been made into movies?”

That got his attention. He peered at me with interest as we descended the big-ass stairs to the entry area and to the doors leading outside. “That, perhaps, is worth the sacrifice of wisdom.”

It wasn’t until I got outside and away from the building that I could appreciate the massive grandeur of Rhyzkahl’s palace. All that I could see before me, I had seen from my balcony—the surrounding craggy mountains, patches of trees in the grove, the turquoise sea beyond the cliffs—but not the palace itself. Turning, I stared in awe, craning my neck to see its heights. Opulent, imposing, and magnificent, it rose in a symphony of white stone, spires, arched windows, and towers framed by deep blue sky veiled thinly with wisps of winter clouds.

Okay, I thought. That’s a damn nice crib he’s got there. Smiling, I continued to walk with Kehlirik and found myself discussing books and television as I headed down the path. Occasionally, he would pause and point out some feature of the gardens or architecture that he thought I might find interesting: a silvery-leafed tree he claimed was over five hundred years old, a stone arch carved in such delicate filigree I was stunned that it could support its own weight, a translucent boulder the size of my car with ribbons of an amber-colored mineral running through it.

I was mid-sentence when a tone rippled through me, touching my ears and my bones in an oddly pleasant way. I stopped walking, stopped talking, and looked over at Kehlirik. “What the hell was that?”

The reyza rumbled, then rumbled some more, obviously finding whatever it was highly amusing. “Tones to mark the time. Midday, that was,” he said, snorting. “There will also be mid-afternoon, evening, morning, and mid-morning, though only humans need such.” He lifted his chin in what looked a lot like pride. “Demons have no need of external reminders.”

I considered that. “So, is it a real clock or a magic clock?” I asked, grinning.

“Can it not be both?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to reply, but a zrila darted up to us and stood on its hind legs. A creature the size of a bobcat, it looked like a six-legged newt with skin that shifted in hues of red and blue, although its head was more like that of a hairless koala. It peered at me and gave a series of whistles.

“It wishes to measure you,” Kehlirik told me.

“Oh! Sure.” Mzatal had said something about how a zrila had made his tie, hadn’t he? “They make clothing?”

“The zrila are master textile artisans.” His eyes flicked over my current garb. “All of what you wear now was created in a zrila circle.”

I blinked in surprise. I’d always assumed that the zrila had fairly low intelligence. “That’s pretty awesome. So, uh, what do I have to do to be measured?”

Kehlirik took a step away from me. “Stand still and extend your arms out to your sides.”

I did so, then jerked in shock as the zrila leaped up to my shoulder. I began to drop my arms, and the zrila let out a sharp whistle that very clearly meant, “put those arms back out, missy!” I quickly snapped them back out and held them as the zrila proceeded to…well, run all over me, from head to toe, winding around my torso and arms and legs and back up again to my shoulder. The whole process took about five seconds, and then it leaped off and was out of sight within about a heartbeat.

I lowered my arms. “Um, that was it?”

Kehlirik gave a snort of what was obviously amusement. “You have now been measured.”

Amused and more than a little amazed, I continued walking. Clouds scuttled across the sky as the breeze picked up. I tucked my scarf around my neck, glad that I’d overdressed. Sometimes being a wimpy southerner paid off.

The path forked. I started down the one that headed toward the grove, but Kehlirik paused.

“Where are you going, Kara Gillian?” he asked.

I glanced back at him and smiled. “I want to go sit in the grove for awhile.” Already, I could feel a slight touch of its calm as it came into sight. “The past few days have been very shit-tastic. I want to chill for a bit, and it’s really lovely and peaceful in there.”

He shifted his wings. “Here, there are many places to sit in contemplation,” he told me. “And today, for you, this is not one of them.”

I blinked at him in surprise, then gave a low chuckle. “Oh, no. I’m not leaving. I promise that.” I could see how he might have misunderstood my intent, considering how I arrived. “I just really need to go there for a little while and get my head on straight.”

“Dahn,” he said with quiet insistence. He stepped to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Not to the grove.”

My smile faded, and for several heartbeats I could only stare at him while I tried to process it. “But I’m not trying to leave. I swear.” I looked to the grove and then back to him, dismay growing. “Kehlirik, please. I really need this. I give you my word I won’t try to leave if you let me go there. Only for a little while. Please.”

His eyes deepened in what might have been regret or sympathy, but I couldn’t really tell for sure. “It is not my decision, Kara Gillian, so I cannot bind you by your word.”

“Whose decision is it?” I asked, though I knew damn well whose it was.

“It is the mandate of Rhyzkahl.”

Even having guessed it had to be him, it was still a punch in the gut to hear it. “He doesn’t trust me?” Why would he think I’d want to run away from him?

Kehlirik shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I can only say that he has forbidden the grove.”

I turned toward the trees again, ache of separation like a knot in my chest. The unfairness of it clawed at me. “I only wanted to sit and think,” I said as disappointment curdled in my gut.

Kehlirik huffed and resettled his wings. “There is a place that will serve well for this, if you will allow me to show you.”

“Sure,” I said, throat tight. Apparently I didn’t have a choice. Bereft, I turned away from the grove.

“Come,” he said. “We will take the path through the gardens.”

Annoyed and upset, I followed glumly. Did Rhyzkahl really think I would flee here? And what if I did want to leave? Clearly, this option wasn’t available to me. Am I a prisoner again? What the hell is going on?

An arcane tingle prickled the back of my neck, stopped me in my tracks. It’s the grove, I realized with astonishment. I could feel when someone was using the grove. How awesome was that? “Someone’s coming through the grove,” I said. But then worry spasmed through me. What if it was Mzatal trying again to get me back?

But Kehlirik seemed unruffled. “Kri. Qaztahl…lords arriving today and tomorrow. Six more.”

I stared at him. “Six? Why?”

He snorted. “Because that is the number of those not yet here,” he said in a duh! tone. “Kadir and Jesral are within the palace already.”

“But why are they all coming here?” I asked, anxiety flickering. “Is Mzatal coming?”

“It is the time of the conclave,” Kehlirik replied calmly. “Should Mzatal choose to participate, he could do so with impunity. It is unlikely he will choose thus. There. Elofir arrives.”

Anxiety gave way to curiosity, and I peered toward the tree tunnel. The tingle faded, but not before I noted that it seemed to have a different feel, or resonance, than when it heralded Mzatal. Maybe each lord had his own “signature” when it came to the grove?

A reyza bounded out of the tree tunnel and took flight with a bellow, closely followed into the air by an inky-black shape I knew to be a zhurn. A few seconds later, a man with short, sandy-blond hair and the slim, athletic build of a dancer emerged. Elofir, Kehlirik had said. He wore brown boots and pants paired with a white ruffled shirt that looked like it came out of the Regency era, and he was engaged in an animated discussion with a savik a bit smaller than seven-foot-tall Turek, the one I’d encountered at Szerain’s shrine. A syraza trailed a few steps behind. The grove still resonated with Elofir’s aura—about as different from Mzatal and Rhyzkahl as night and day. There was nothing of menace or contained danger about him, though he still carried himself with Presence. The power he exuded was gentle and calm, and through my too-fucking-cool connection with the grove, I had the unwavering impression that, if given the choice between losing face or engaging in conflict, he would choose the former, and not because of any sort of cowardice. He simply felt peaceful.

I watched until they disappeared through the archway into the palace, then exhaled and looked over at Kehlirik. “What do they do at this conclave?” I asked. “S’mores? Ghost stories?”

Kehlirik started walking again, and I paced alongside him. “I do not know what this ‘s’mores’ is,” he said. “What they do varies, with several elements always being present. Review of agreements, confirmation of the rotations for the next cycle, assessment of anomaly patterning, and a unified rebalance.”

“You’d like s’mores,” I told him. “Chocolate and melted marshmallow between two graham crackers.” I glanced his way. “What are the rotations for?”

“Of the overwatch,” he said. “It is critical that each day is covered by at least one lord, though two will be on the rotation. Even a single day unwatched can disastrously unbalance the arcane fields.”

I took a few seconds to consider that, remembering Ilana’s statement about the lords having much responsibility, and the image of the potency thingy Turek showed me in Szerain’s shrine.

“In other words, they maintain this world’s arcane power plant and make sure it doesn’t overload or have blackouts?” I asked.

“Kri,” he said with a twitch of his wings. “It is a simplistic though adequate analogy.”

As we rounded a curve in the path, a ruined stone structure came into sight. All thoughts of arcane power plants fled my mind as I took it in. “Oh, wow,” I breathed.

The ruins crowned the rise ahead, surrounded by boulders shrugged from the mountainside above. Stairs of white stone climbed toward what had once been a graceful roofed structure of the same pale stone. Only columns and one wall remained standing on its raised foundation, the rest in broken chunks among the tumbled boulders.

Kehlirik followed me up the stairs. Halfway up I felt the place. Even broken, it resonated a subtle, permeating potency that made me feel a little floaty in a good way. My steps slowed to a reverent pace as I took it all in. The translucent milky stone of both the remaining structure and the fallen chunks shimmered with a soft bluish glow, and, as I topped the rise, the columns framed the blue-grey sky beyond. Déjà vu kicked in full force. Kehlirik crouched at the edge of the foundation, lifted a claw, and sketched a sigil in the air. I watched in fascination as he sent it spinning to the middle of the ruined pavilion where it flared brightly before fading away.

His eyes went to me. “You may send a…” He seemed to be seeking the right word. “Wish,” he finally said, though I had the feeling it still wasn’t quite what he was trying to convey. “Trace any primary sigil and imbue it with your wish.”

I stood silently for a moment, considering, then scowled in annoyance. “I can’t,” I said, voice loaded with bitterness. “Even without this goddamn collar, I don’t know how to do one of those floater sigils.”

Kehlirik’s eyes went to the collar. He let out a low croon that might have been of sympathy, but it was hard to be sure. “I will trace one for you. It matters not who creates the sigil.”

He sketched another sigil, then looked to me, waiting.

Kinda surreal making a wish with a demon, but no point in wasting it. I pursed my lips and considered while a million different things flitted through my mind. Getting home was my top priority, however Rhyzkahl said he was working on that. Then there was protecting myself from Mzatal. But I wasn’t going to waste a wish on that fucker. More up close and personal was this elusive crap with Elinor. What the hell. It was only a wish anyway.

I gave Kehlirik a nod. I want to know what really happened to Elinor. Just in case, I threw in the post script, and that means her part in the cataclysm, too. I snorted. So silly.

Kehlirik sent it to the center where it glowed briefly then dissipated.

“Thanks,” I said. “What is this place?”

Crouching, the reyza settled his wings along his back. “It is a very ancient site, a gateway from the time before the Ekiri departed.”

“Ekiri? Who were they?” I asked. “And why did they leave?”

A pair of faas hopped to the edge of the pavilion steps and sent in sigils before continuing on in, stopping in the very center where the sigils had disappeared. Kehlirik moved to follow them, and I did likewise.

“They were a race that once lived among us and taught much of the mastery of the arcane,” Kehlirik said. “They departed for a new realm many millennia ago.”

“That’s pretty amazing,” I said, slowly looking around. I could spend a lifetime simply learning the history of this world. “Was this damaged during the cataclysm?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, wings drooping slightly. “It had stood unblemished for millennia.”

I cautiously put my hand on a stone. It was cool but not as cold as normal stone would have been in this weather. Memories flickered. Her memories.

Cool stone, peace, a smile, ancient blue eyes…

I frowned. I wanted more than shadows. Breathing deeply, I sought the deeper memories.

I sketch the sigil and make my wish. Would that I could learn faster. He expects so much of me, and I fear I am a disappointment. In this place I feel whole. Perhaps the ancients can hear me and will touch me from afar. I imagine that the song of the stone is their song, their voices. I have not told Giovanni this for he would surely think me foolish.

Holy crap. Through the memory I could almost almost feel how to shape the floater. I tried to call it up again for an instant replay, but nothing. Damn. That could have been useful. Instead, I focused on what I did understand from the memory. “She used to come here a lot,” I murmured. It had been whole and untouched in her lifetime, existing in perfection in the shadow of a cliff. Now I could see where the cliff had collapsed, crushing part of the pavilion and creating the tumble of boulders.

Kehlirik dipped his head in a nod. “Elinor. Yes. Alone and with the lord.”

I let the memories flicker through my head.

Ancient blue eyes upon me as he approaches. How glorious he is! His smile is like sunshine, and when he touches my cheek I want to melt. He holds me close to his side and strokes my hair. I have no fears here.

“She worshipped him,” I said with a soft sigh.

Kehlirik tilted his head, seemed to consider. “Yes, worship. A good choice of word.”

“Poor thing,” I murmured. So young. Barely old enough to know herself. How could she not adore Rhyzkahl when he extended affection to her? Was this how Rhyzkahl felt about me?

Kehlirik shifted his wings. “She was content.”

Could she even conceive of having anything else? I wondered about Giovanni. Maybe in the end she found something else, though since she died so young, it never had a chance to truly blossom.

Sighing, I pulled my hand from the stone. “What about Gio—”

Giovanni’s face swam before me, close, pale, and drawn, clearer than memory, more clouded than reality. I couldn’t hear him, but his lips formed my name—her name. The discordant whine of a failing ritual enveloped me, setting my teeth on edge, and an instant later was gone. Agony flooded my chest, tearing at me, expanding until there was nothing but pain and silence. Giovanni’s face before me, silently saying Elinor over and over. Pain. Elinor, Elinor, Elinor. Pain. Elinor, Elinor. Giovanni.

Shuddering, I sucked breath through my teeth and worked to push away the overwhelming memory that threatened to unbalance me. These are not my memories, I fiercely reminded myself. I can control this.

Mzatal’s advice came back to me, so I drew a deep breath and mentally traced the stupid pygah. Slowly, the disturbing memory retreated back to its lair. It felt different from the other Elinor memories—more isolated, more nightmarish. I lifted my head to see Kehlirik watching me carefully.

I gave him the steadiest smile I could manage. “I’m okay. It was just a strong memory.”

He let out a snort and nodded as if satisfied that I unmired myself, then flew up to a shoulder of rock overlooking the ruins.

The two faas abruptly chittered and went still as stone, including their tails. I’d never, ever, seen a faas still. Ever. A heartbeat later they both darted off and through the rocks. I blinked in surprise, about to turn and head back down the hill when I felt it: a lord’s aura. And not Rhyzkahl’s, I realized with dismay. This aura was cold. No, not just cold. Cold. As. Fuck.

Shit. I so did not want to deal with any lord right now, especially one that even the faas would hide from. What the hell was that all about? But I couldn’t see any other way down the hill, and I wasn’t small and agile like the faas who’d apparently ducked and hid behind some of the rocks. I finally settled for clambering on a boulder that was partially tucked behind a section of the ruins. Maybe this lord was simply coming up here to do one of those wish-things, and would then leave without bothering to look around. Maybe if I stayed super still he wouldn’t notice me.

And maybe I’ll sprout wings and fly away, I thought with a scowl. I scuttled back into the shadow and as out of sight as I could get.

I breathed as shallowly as possible, listening to the fall of his footsteps on the stone and peering through a gap in the columns. Blond and androgynous, he sauntered into the center of the ruins, then lifted his head, nostrils flaring as though scenting.

He turned to look directly at me. Fuck.

Primal instinct screamed at me to run, but it was all I could do right now to breathe, much less move.

His eyes narrowed. “Come,” he said, voice cold and imperiously commanding.

Gulping back the unreasoning terror, I silently cursed. If I refused there was no telling what he’d do. I climbed down and approached, though I took my damn sweet time doing so. My eyes met his, but I quickly yanked my gaze away. Beautiful. A shocking amethyst color that reminded me of the syraza. But I didn’t like what was behind those eyes, didn’t want to see any more of it. The Symbol Man might have been a ruthless serial killer, but he was a puppy compared to this dude.

I stopped about ten feet away. A smile played on the lord’s lips.

“Come,” he repeated, indicating a spot directly in front of him.

My skin crawled as I moved forward. His aura flowed over me in an oily wave, sending a shudder of nameless horror through me. It was like being near the creepiest person I’d ever known times a thousand. His lips parted slightly, which only served to increase the ick-factor. A shiver raced over my skin, and I struggled to summon anger instead of the mewling terror that wanted to come out.

He stepped closer so that he was barely a foot in front of me, inhaling deeply as his aura surrounded me, viscous and dark. Slowly he moved around me. My breaths became shallow, and I clenched my hands into fists to keep them from shaking. He stopped behind me, stayed there while I gritted my teeth and fought back a shiver.

The lord took hold of the scarf, wound it back around my throat. He held both ends of it while he stood behind me. He didn’t pull, but I knew he wanted me to understand that he could, that he was in control. I swallowed hard, throat moving against the fabric. He gave a light tug, shifting it tighter though nowhere near to the point of choking me. Didn’t matter. Totally had me freaked out. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I knew he would enjoy such a chase, knew that it would end badly for me.

A low whimper escaped me as he exerted slow pressure on the scarf to pull me back against him. He inhaled, mouth close to my ear.

“I know your scent, baztakh,” he murmured, voice resonant with a promise of pain, and terror, and mind-fucking torment.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I sought to tap my anger. He was doing this solely to scare me. And yeah, he was doing a damn good job of it, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t also piss me off. Taking a deep breath, I focused on the peace and calm of the grove.

Still at my back, he released the scarf and put his hands on my shoulders. The way he slid them down my arms almost made me wish it was a sexual move instead of the unknown that it was.

“Perhaps, when Rhyzkahl has finished using you, he will pass you to me.” Dark amusement colored his voice. “I would gladly accept you as partial payment.”

I drew a stupid mental pygah and focused on the peace of the grove, slowing my breathing and regaining my composure despite the extreme level of revulsion. “Payment? For what?”

He laughed and set his hands on both sides of my neck, middle fingers tracing over my larynx. “Such matters are not shared with pets.”

“I am not, and never will be, a pet,” I managed to snarl, holding the feel of the grove close to me.

“Ah, you want to play, little pet?” He chuckled low. “I would very much enjoy that.”

“You bore me,” I said. Play? I had no idea what he was talking about, but I did my damnedest to put as much contempt into my voice as possible. Probably would have been better without the quaver, but I did my best. “I wish no game with you. You’re pathetic.”

He gave a low laugh, moved languidly around to face me. “You do not smell bored. You do not…feel bored.” He ran a finger along my clenched jaw, smiled. Hunger danced in his violet eyes. “Subside or rise fully and show me how pathetic I am.”

What the hell was he talking about? Rise fully? He’s fucking with me, I decided. There was no way I could best a lord.

His eyes stayed on my face, amusement flickering in them as he gauged my reaction to his challenge. He let out a low laugh as he reached and shoved me lightly in the chest, still watching as if studying me.

I took a step back. He was definitely goading me, but to what end? Did he truly expect me to strike out at him? I wasn’t that stupid.

A reyza landed a few feet behind and to the right of the lord. It crouched and bared teeth at me, but this was no reyza smile. As I looked at the demon, recognition tugged, but I couldn’t understand why. I’d never summoned this one. I knew that much. Kehlirik was the only reyza I’d ever summoned. And this wasn’t one of Mzatal’s.

Ice dropped into my belly as the memory struck—my own memory, my own pain: A reyza bellowing as he leaped at me, claws extended. A burning tug at my belly. The sight of my bowels coiled on the floor in front of me. The growing pool of blood.

Sweat stung my armpits despite the chill in the air. This was Sehkeril, the reyza who’d aided the Symbol Man serial killer during his final attempt to summon and bind Rhyzkahl. Sehkeril had eviscerated me, and I had only minutes to live when Rhyzkahl brought me back to the demon realm and allowed me to die here.

The lord closed the gap between us. “I will go now and speak to Rhyzkahl about arrangements,” he said, cold amusement in his voice. He leaned in close—far too close—face beside mine as he murmured in my ear. “Sehkeril will keep you company while I am away.”

The lord pressed a forefinger into the notch of my throat above my collarbones, just enough to be painful without doing any actual damage. What the hell? He smiled as I coughed, looked upon me for another unpleasant moment, then turned and headed away.

Sehkeril growled and clicked his claws together, quite clearly trying to unsettle me. He didn’t need to; his creepy lord had taken care of maxing out my freakout, and all I wanted to do right then was to get away from this place. Surely the reyza wouldn’t hurt me while I was in Rhyzkahl’s realm? Hoping that was true, I turned away from him and hurried back down the stone steps toward the palace, but I heard claws on stone and a near constant growl as he followed. My heart pounded a crazy rhythm as I descended the steps, and my back prickled. I fully expected a shove from behind or some other harassment.

I heard a rush of wings followed by Kehlirik’s voice, speaking in demon to Sehkeril, and it definitely wasn’t a friendly How ya doin’? Glancing back, I saw that Kehlirik was keeping the other reyza occupied. I breathed a silent thanks, but still quickened my pace as soon as I reached the path. I crested the low hill, and the grove came into view. That’s where I wanted to be—shielded within the embrace of those living walls. I wasn’t safe here, that was for sure.

I’m not safe, I realized with sick disappointment. I’d come here—escaped to here—assuming I would be safe, that I wouldn’t be hurt or harassed or mistreated.

I shot a quick glance behind me as the two reyza took flight, snarling at each other. I wanted to be in the grove, but more than that, I wanted to be away from here.

Why not leave? I suddenly thought. Why not find someplace safe and quiet where I could think and ponder and get my head back to where it needed to be. But I don’t know this world, and I really do try not to be extraordinarily stupid. My gaze went back to the grove, and the familiar calm seeped through me. It could take me someplace safe, I realized as clearly as if the grove had spoken to me—and then I somehow knew it had done just that. I didn’t know how sentient it was, but I knew, as surely as I’d known that I could use the grove to travel, that it would take me away from Rhyzkahl’s realm to someplace safe, with no alien or undue perils, where I could begin to process everything.

Kehlirik and Sehkeril were high and behind me, flying a snarling, hissing aerial dance. If I was going to do this, now was likely my only chance. No…I am doing this. I’m leaving. It was the right move. I knew it. Neither reyza seemed to notice me taking the path toward the grove, but I knew it was only a matter of seconds before they did. I made a quick scan for any other demons nearby and didn’t see any. It wasn’t very far. I could do this.

I bolted and took off at a dead run for the grove as fast as my not-very-athletic body could manage. If I had any luck at all the two reyza would remain occupied with whatever the hell dominance game they were playing.

Clearly, I had no luck whatsoever, for a bellow sounded not even a heartbeat later. I sprinted all out, eyes on the grove as I gasped for breath. I figured, worst case scenario—meaning Kehlirik broke off immediately—I had about a count of ten to make it to the trees. Once I was within that tree tunnel I was home free. I knew that. The grove wouldn’t let anyone pull me away. Five, six, seven; hope rose within me. I was actually going to make it. An exultant smile spread across my face despite the deep burning of my lungs and legs from the sudden exertion. Eight, nine…

The mark on my forearm flared white-hot then went utterly cold as a wave of weakness slammed into me. I stumbled, then sprawled to my belly in an awkward slide. I couldn’t even get my hands up to break my fall, and pain lanced through my cheek and forehead as the coarse grass scraped my face. I struggled to focus, to get up, to run those last few feet, but my body had zero strength in it. I couldn’t even lift my head to look toward the grove, though I could feel it right there.

The world dipped and spun. Kehlirik landed beside me and crouched, crooning softly. Was this a heart attack? I wondered, utterly bewildered. So close. I’d been so close. Tears of frustration slid down my cheeks, but I didn’t have the strength to sob or scream.

Sehkeril landed near, but Kehlirik warned him off with a roar and a snarl. Kehlirik made a soft ticking sound as he gathered me gently into his arms, my body as limp as if I was unconscious. He shifted so that my head rested against his chest instead of lolling back. The mark on my arm burned with a cold pain, as if ice had been held against it for far too long.

The mark. A shiver went through me. Was that it? Maybe I’d tripped a ward or something. Or maybe Rhyzkahl had somehow zapped me to keep me from leaving. This last thought left me as cold as my mark, yet I had a sickening certainty it was true.

“Yaghir tahn, Kara Gillian,” he murmured. “Forgive me.”

“Wh-what happened?” I slurred, barely able to get the words out and not even sure if he could understand me. I felt like complete shit, utterly weak both inside and out.

Kehlirik stood and began to carry me toward the palace. A kehza flew close, curious, but Kehlirik snarled, sending the other demon streaking away. “You were stopped from going to the grove,” he told me.

The cold within me seemed to increase. “Mark,” I mumbled. Kehlirik merely snorted, which was answer enough for me. Nausea curdled my gut, but I wasn’t sure I had even the strength to barf. I wasn’t crying anymore—much. I couldn’t seem to get a handle on the fear that wanted to take up permanent residence in my chest. What the fuck do I do now?

He carried me to my rooms and set me gently on the bed, crooning low in his throat as he pulled a blanket over me. Again he murmured yaghir tahn, but I was too demoralized and upset to respond. He crouched beside the bed, massive head lowered toward me, and bestial face contorted with concern. “Rest, Kara Gillian,” he said, voice soft and deep.

“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered, tears still leaking.

He ticked softly as he settled his wings. “There is nowhere for you to go in the moment, so best to abide in peace, though your heart calls you elsewhere.”

I didn’t want to see his concern, didn’t want to hear his comfort. He’d brought me back here to this place where I didn’t want to be. Yeah, I’d rest. I didn’t really have a choice at the moment, did I? Right now I felt as if I’d had the flu for months, and even blinking required tremendous effort. The only parts of me that actually hurt were the mark and the scrapes on my face, but the rest of me still felt like total shit.

Kehlirik gave a low hiss then rose and exited. I drew a small amount of comfort from the fact that the reyza seemed to be pissed at Rhyzkahl as well.

A few heartbeats later, I felt Rhyzkahl come in. He moved toward the bed. “Dear one,” he said, concern on his face.

I wanted to turn away from him, but I didn’t have the strength, which pissed me off as much as it scared me. Instead I gave him a Fuck you glare with an added touch of You’re a worthless bastard, then closed my eyes.

The bed shifted as he sat on the edge. A heartbeat later I felt his hand on the scrapes on my cheek. “With Kehlirik distracted, I had no other option but to use the mark to stop you from leaving,” he said as a low warmth eased the sting in my face. “There should have been no pain in the mark when I did so. The damage done by Mzatal twisted the connection.”

I stayed silent, hurt and pissed.

“I know Kadir frightened you, and I understand your desire to flee,” he continued. “I could not allow it as it would take you out of my direct protection.” He set his other hand on my forehead, and gradually the horrible-flu sensation faded along with the worst of the crippling weakness.

Kadir. Now the creepshow had a name. Taking a ragged breath, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “I wouldn’t have even encountered him if you’d allowed me to visit the grove,” I said, still deeply upset and hurt. “I needed that, and you denied it.”

Regret shadowed across his face. “I cannot risk you,” he said. “There are many lords arriving, and I cannot adequately protect you in the grove.” His eyes met mine. “Even were this not the time of the conclave, Mzatal could arrive at any moment, and he would not leave you sitting peacefully in the grove.”

“I can feel before anyone comes through,” I muttered, turning my head away. “I needed it.”

Rhyzkahl laid a hand over the mark, easing the cold burn and giving me a bit more of my strength back. “And if, in your musings, you again decide you need to depart?” he asked. “What then? I would have no means to recover or rescue you then, and you would be fully at the mercy of others.” He paused. “And some know nothing of mercy.” He touched my cheek. “Dear one, I sought only to protect you from dangers of which you were unaware.”

I had zero doubt he referred to Kadir, and I shivered at the memory. His prisoner? I’d take Mzatal’s tender care over Lord Creepshow’s. “Would it be too fucking hard for you to tell me shit like this?” I turned my head back toward him. “If you’re so damn protective, then why did you let that…that freak paw all over me?”

“He was under guest oath then,” Rhyzkahl replied with utter calm. “He is under full oath to me now, and such will not happen again while you’re here. As long as you are here.”

Scowling, I rolled away from him and curled on my side. “I want to go home.”

“Yes, I know you do,” he said. “And I seek the means. I do not yet have them.”

I was still pretty damn tired, but at least I didn’t feel like death anymore. Yet I also didn’t know if I could believe him. Most confusing was the fact that what he said made sense. Maybe it was simply the fact that I didn’t like—and certainly wasn’t accustomed to—other people making decisions for me without even the courtesy of explanation or discussion.

“I want to be alone,” I said. “Please…I need you to go away.”

“No.” He pulled the covers from me, and then I felt him shift onto the bed. Before I could wonder what the hell he was doing, he lifted me and pulled me into his lap as he sat against the headboard to cradle me close.

I blinked, utterly shocked at the display of tenderness. There’d been times when the demonic lord had shown a measure of what could be construed as affection, but there’d never been anything as overt as this.

And it was exactly what I needed, though I hadn’t realized it. Releasing a shuddering breath, I found myself relaxing against him. “Why are you doing this?” I sighed.

He bent his head close to mine, nuzzling gently. “It was not my desire to…go away.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder, eyes closing. “You always get what you want?” I murmured.

I heard his whispered reply as I drifted off to sleep.

“No.”